


Remember all the songs you sang for me

by celt_the_flame_3110



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Boys In Love, Caring Richie Tozier, Child Neglect, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, Domestic Fluff, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Everyone Is Alive, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Hammocks, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Insecure Eddie Kaspbrak, Insecure Richie Tozier, Insecurity, Kissing, Light Angst, Lullabies, M/M, Musicals, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Scars, Sick Character, Sickfic, Singing, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Swearing, Texting, The Hammock (IT), Tickling, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:00:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22182976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celt_the_flame_3110/pseuds/celt_the_flame_3110
Summary: When he finally calmed down he heard an intense retching sound coming from the living room. Feeling the faintest traces of empathy creeping into the depths of his damnable heart, he wandered toward the noise.He saw Eddie kneeled on the floor, doubled over the waste basket (thankfully all of the vomit ended up in the receptacle), shivering and crying. He held his stomach, wincing in pain with traces of vomit on his chin.He looked up at Richie with tear filled eyes and, with a choked up voice, admitted, “I think I’m sick.”OrEddie gets sick and Richie takes care of him in a very fluffy, loving way
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon (if you squint), Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris
Comments: 40
Kudos: 263





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've decided to write a sickfic. I know they've been done to death at this point but I personally really enjoy reading them. So I decided to try and write one. 
> 
> A few warnings before you get into it. 
> 
> First of all, there are descriptions of sickness (in case you couldn't tell lol). So, if descriptions of people being sick or throwing up bothers you, you might want to skip this one. I don't go into extreme detail or anything, but it's there.
> 
> Secondly, Eddie's relationships with Sonia and Myra are mentioned. These relationships are abusive. If implied/mentioned abuse bothers you, you might want to tap out. Again, it doesn't go into extreme detail but it's there.
> 
> Last warning, there is a homophobic slur used that starts with an f. It's only there once and is not even in dialogue but if that bothers you, you might want to skip this.
> 
> I hope I covered everything. If there is anything else alarming that I didn't mention and need to, please (politely) tell me in the comments.
> 
> Enjoy the fic!

When Eddie dragged himself out of bed that morning, he felt a stabbing pain in his head and his stomach lurched. He stumbled to the bathroom and emptied his stomach into the toilet, gripping the sides of the frigid, porcelain bowl.

When he finished retching he coughed and wheezed, feeling like the fragile thirteen year old who needed to be coddled by his controlling, doting mother every time he so much as sneezed or got a paper cut. When he realized he was an adult, he felt like the weak forty year old who needed his wife to do the _exact same things._

He had to remember that all of that was in the past. His mother had been dead for years. After he and his six friends defeated Pennywise, while he was recovering in the hospital, Richie confessed his feelings toward him. After Eddie recovered he divorced Myra and, soon after, moved in with Richie. At this point, they have been dating for an entire year and they were both _immensely_ happy.

Richie was nothing like Sonia or Myra. If he found out Eddie was sick he would be concerned, sure, but he wasn’t going to smother him with “love” the way they did. But...what if he _did?_ There would be no malicious intent behind it, obviously, but what if he would try to care for Eddie only to mirror the exact way his mother or wife “cared” for him?

What if Eddie wasn’t even sick? What if this was just his mind tricking his body into thinking he was sick? His brain gave his body asthma for _years_ and the fabricated symptoms were only able to be quelled by a placebo inhaler that sprayed deceit down his esophagus. 

After he flushed the toilet, he stood up on wobbly knees and stumbled to the kitchen.After getting a glass of water he left the kitchen, intending to walk back to the bedroom. On his way to the intended destination he felt his stomach churn. So he decided to lie down on the couch instead. 

Sitting his now half empty glass of water on the coffee table, he placed one of the throw pillows under his head and squeezed his eyes shut. As he lay in a fetal position, urgently hoping sleep would take effect soon, he prayed that Richie wouldn’t notice that he wasn’t feeling well.

***

When Richie got home from his meeting with his manager, around noon, he was surprised when he saw his boyfriend lying on the couch. He was pretty sure this wasn’t one of Eddie’s days off and Eddie didn’t have a habit of calling off of work for no reason.

Richie quietly walked towards Eddie and examined him, trying to assess the damage. Eddie’s dark brown hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, he was breathing out of his mouth, his cheeks were flushed pink, and goosebumps sporadically scored his arms. 

Richie heard a ringtone coming from the kitchen.

He rushed towards the noise as quietly as possible before it could wake Eddie up. He saw Eddie’s phone sitting on the counter next to the sink. Eddie’s boss was trying to contact him. Richie answered the call and spoke to Eddie’s boss in a low voice, informing her that he was feeling ill and wouldn't be able to make it to work today.

When he got off the phone, he carefully walked to one of the hallway closets, grabbing the forehead thermometer. He also grabbed the wastebasket from the bathroom, lining it with a small plastic bag before bringing both things to the living room.

He knelt next to where Eddie was lying and turned the thermometer on. He brushed the hair off of Eddie’s forehead before slowly sliding the device across and stopping at the hairline. Richie winced at seeing the 102.1 rating, assuming that that temperature wasn’t normal. A quick google search confirmed that while this _was_ too high, it didn’t yet warrant a hospital visit.

After googling home remedies to relieve flu symptoms, Richie refilled Eddie’s water glass and rejoined the slumbering man in the living room.

“Eddie,” Richie said softly. “Wake up.”

Eddie sat up seconds later with a grimace.

“You alright, darling?”

Eddie’s eyes enlarged at the pet name and, in a raspy voice, he managed, “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Richie asked gently. “I just checked your temperature and it was kind of high. Also, no offense or anything, but you don’t look too hot. You should probably drink some of this. Only half the glass was empty and staying hydrated right now is probably import-”

“I’m _fine_ Richie,” Eddie growled. “Now why don’t you do me a favor and fuck off!”

Richie took a step back at the utter hatred in Eddie’s voice.

Telling Richie to “fuck off” wasn’t an uncommon thing for Eddie to do. He has told Richie to do worse things. He was always joking, though. Even if he told Richie to “go play in traffic” or to “go skydiving without a parachute”, there was always a playful undertone to it. No matter how narrow his eyes were, tight his lip was, or clipped his words seemed, there was always an implication of a joke somewhere. The way Eddie was looking at him _now,_ though? There wasn’t any playfulness, affection, or _love_ to his statement; Only pure contempt and disdain.

Richie all but slammed the glass back onto the coffee table and Eddie flinched at the sudden noise.

“Okay, fine,” Richie spat, his eyes watery with tears, “If you’re fine, then you don’t need my help. Allow me to go _fuck myself.”_

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed to their bedroom. No, _his_ bedroom. Eddie could sleep on the fucking couch for all he cared. 

Richie sat on the edge of the bed and let himself cry for a minute.

What did he even do wrong? He just wanted to take care of his obviously sick boyfriend and he was _yelled at?_ Not only yelled at, but yelled at with nothing but _hatred_ in Eddie’s eyes. It was the same hatred that _Henry_ looked at him with when he called him a faggot at the arcade. The heartache and resentment reverberated in his core so violently he could feel it in his bones.

When he finally calmed down he heard an intense retching sound coming from the living room. Feeling the faintest traces of empathy creeping into the depths of his damnable heart, he wandered toward the noise.

He saw Eddie kneeled on the floor, doubled over the waste basket (thankfully all of the vomit ended up in the receptacle), shivering and crying. He held his stomach, wincing in pain with traces of vomit on his chin.

He looked up at Richie with tear filled eyes and, with a choked up voice, admitted, “I think I’m sick.”

Without a word, Richie immediately left the room. 

***

Eddie couldn’t believe how badly he fucked up. He had no idea what Richie was up to but he figured it wasn’t good.

He couldn't believe he yelled at Richie, the only person who ever truly loved him. Richie was only trying to help and Eddie just _had_ to be a _total_ asshole.

He couldn't stand to see the same pity in Richie's eyes that was in his mother's or Myra's. He also couldn't stand to hear him call Eddie "darling" the one name, out of all the pet names he could have chosen to use, that both his mother and Myra called him frequently. 

But still, Eddie should've just chilled out and taken the damn water! What the fuck was wrong with him, anyway? Now Richie was obviously hurt and was probably pissed at him, and rightfully so. 

Eddie glanced up to see Richie re-enter the living room with two damp washcloths and a bottle of cold and flu medicine. 

Richie kneeled to where he in front of Eddie but not too close to him. Richie seemed much more cautious now, a lot more afraid at the possibility of making a mistake, and it broke Eddie's heart. 

"Is it okay if I clean your face off?" Richie asked. 

Eddie managed a nod and Richie leaned in closer. He gently used one washcloth to wipe the barf off of Eddie's chin. Eddie's eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of the cool cloth on his face, it felt _heavenly_ against his feverish skin.

When Richie pulled the cloth away Eddie let out a whine. 

“What’s wrong?” Richie asked, concerned.

“That felt good.” Eddie murmured.

Richie held up the clean washcloth and asked, “Do you want this one?”

Eddie nodded and immediately winced.

“Headache?” Richie asked sympathetically.

“Yeah.” Eddie responded softly.

Richie pressed the washcloth to Eddie’s head and Eddie let out a moan.

Richie smiled kindly and held up the bottle of medicine. “Is this the right stuff? I don’t want to fuck you up by giving you the wrong medicine by accident.”

“Yeah.” Eddie responded, blissed out due to the cloth.

Richie read the instructions and poured the correct dosage into the small plastic cup. Richie gave it to Eddie and he hesitated.

“I’m _actually_ sick, right?” Eddie asked skeptically.

“Yeah, I checked your temp with the forehead thermometer. It was like 102.”

“102 point _what_?”

“One.”

“Shit…”

Eddie eyed the medicine and eventually downed it. 

Richie took the cup back from him and put it back in its place on top of the medicine bottle.

“Do you want to chill out here or would you rather lay in a bed?” Richie asked gently.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You’d probably be more comfortable in bed than on the couch.”

Eddie nodded and Richie stood. Eddie shakily stood up and his boyfriend wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him. Richie helped Eddie make it to the bedroom, walking slowly the whole way there, and deposited him safely on the bed. Eddie lied down, his back against the headboard, and Richie left the room momentarily.

Eddie was surprised Richie helped him after he treated him so badly. He felt _terrible_ about being so venomous. Even if Eddie was abused by his mother and ex wife that didn’t give him the right to mistreat his boyfriend, especially when he had good intentions.

Richie returned with a fluffy blanket, the waterglass, a small bowl of cold water, and the waste basket, now re-lined with a new bag. Richie unfolded the blanket and draped it over Eddie, making sure his whole body was sufficiently covered. He placed the wastebasket next to the bed, then sat the remaining two items on the nightstand.

“That’s for the washcloth. So you can make it cold again when it’s warm.” Richie explained, gesturing to the bowl.

Richie sunk down onto the foot of the bed and the two sat in tense silence for a minute or two.

Richie finally broke it with, “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I probably shouldn’t yell at you when you don’t feel well. You just looked at me with so much... _hatred_ and it reminded me of, uh…”

Richie was staring at the wall, not looking at Eddie. 

Eddie had no idea who he could have possibly reminded Richie of. Especially not if the memory affected him like _this._

“Rich, who did I remind you of?” Eddie asked.

Richie opened his mouth to speak then immediately closed it, hesitating.

“It’s okay, you can tell me.”

“I don’t want you to feel bad.”

“I _already_ feel bad, so you might as well tell me.”

Knowing how stubborn Eddie could be in certain situations, Richie softly said, “Bowers.”

Eddie’s heart practically stopped in his chest.

At Eddie’s silence, Richie finally looked at him.

“Chee...I am _so, so_ sorry…”

“It’s okay,” Richie soothed, gently placing a hand on Eddie’s leg. “I know you didn’t mean to. You were just upset by something. What _were_ you upset about, anyway? Not trying to be insensitive or anything. I just want to know what I did wrong.”

“Well...” Eddie started. “Do you remember how my mom treated me when I was a kid?”

Richie nodded, his expression slightly darkening.

“She and Myra treated me in very similar ways. I guess when you unsolicitedly administered care to me, it kinda reminded me of them. I know you meant well and everything but when you started lecturing me on staying hydrated and called me ‘darling’-”

“I reminded you of them?” Richie finished.

Eddie nodded, careful not to make his own headache worse, and the sheer devastation on Richie’s face further severed his already broken heart.

“Fuck,” Richie said, his voice cracking. “Eds, I am _so sorry._ I feel _awful.”_

“It’s okay,” Eddie assured him, placing a hand over Richie’s. “You had good intentions, but it still fucked me up for a minute.”

At Eddie’s forgiveness, Richie’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

“So, where does that leave us?” Richie asked after a moment. “Since your body is using all your energy to fight off whatever virus is inside you, you don’t really have much to spare. So I _do_ have to take care of you, at least to some extent. The last thing I want to do is to remind you of those abusive, heartless bitches.”

Eddie hummed and pondered for a moment.

Unfortunately, Richie was right. Eddie’s body was so weak that he could barely stand without assistance. So he _did_ need Richie’s help but the last thing he wanted was for Richie to take care of him the way his abusers did.

“Maybe you could just, let _me_ tell you how I want to be taken care of?” Eddie suggested. “Like, don’t do anything I’d be uncomfortable with. I know you wouldn’t but I thought I’d specify. Also just, like, suggest things rather than forcing them on me.”

“Okay,” Richie said, nodding. “I can totally do that. I have a couple of questions, though. First of all, what if you’re unresponsive? Like, what if you fall asleep and don’t wake back up?”

“If I fall unconscious, do whatever you deem necessary to make sure I’m okay. But if there are _any_ doubts, just take me to the ER.”

“Got it. Also, what pet names am I not allowed to use?”

“Just the one you used earlier. That’s really the only one they called me. Anything else is fair game.”

“Okay, snuggle bunny.”

Eddie made a disgusted face and Richie broke out into a broad smile, cackling.

“You’re gonna make me vomit again,” Eddie groaned. “New rule. _Absolutely no pet names.”_

“Fine, dick.”

“Why are you calling me dick? That’s what I should be calling you. Your name is _literally_ Richard.”

“As opposed to figuratively Richard?”

“Fuck off.”

They both stared at each other before laughing.

Eddie laughed too hard and started gagging. Richie immediately held the wastebasket up to Eddie’s mouth. Eddie took it from him and started throwing up again. Richie started dragging one hand through Eddie’s hair and rubbed comforting circles into his back with the other.

When Eddie was done, he sat the receptacle back onto the floor. Richie never halted his movements, murmuring soothing words into Eddie’s ear. Eventually, Eddie’s shoulders relaxed again.

“You probably shouldn’t touch me,” Eddie mumbled drowsily. “You’re probably gonna catch whatever I have.”

“Don’t care,” Richie decided, kissing the top of Eddie’s head. “I’m not depriving you of physical contact just because I _might_ get sick.”

Eddie weakly shrugged as if to say _Your funeral._

Richie eventually removed his hands, pulling the bag out of the wastebasket and tying it shut.

“Have you eaten anything today?” Richie asked.

“No.” Eddie responded, handing Richie the now warm washcloth.

“Do you want me to get you something?” Richie asked, soaking the cloth. 

“I dunno. I don’t think I can hold anything down but I _should_ probably eat something.”

Richie placed the washcloth on Eddie’s forehead, earning a relaxed sigh from him.

“Well, I googled it. The website said you can have juice, chicken broth, plain toast-”

“Wait,” Eddie said, opening his previously shut eyes. “You _googled_ it?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You hardly ever google anything. You usually just ask me for the answer or you ‘wing it.’ I remember once you told me, and I quote, ‘I’m not going to fact check it because I’m too lazy.’”

“Well, I _couldn’t_ ask you because you were asleep at the time. I wasn’t going to ‘wing it’ and jeopardize your health! I’m lazy, not an asshole.”

Eddie felt his heart melt at the thought of Richie _actually_ doing research on something. Even if it was a quick google search and he probably clicked on only the first search result. Oh well… it was a start, and Eddie would take it.

Eddie felt his gaze soften when he said, “Okay, just get me something that the internet said I could eat and we’ll see if I can keep it down.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to cite my sources, Dr. K?” Richie quipped with a grin.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I expect a full bibliography in MLA format later.”

“If you think I’m formatting that shit, you’re wrong. I’m just going to copy and paste the links on a word document.”

“I’m surprised you’re putting forth _that_ much effort, to be honest.”

Richie cackled and went to the kitchen.

***

Richie ended up bringing Eddie some chicken broth and jello. He made sure Eddie was okay before running to the store to get Sprite, saltines, cough drops (lozenge was a stupid fucking name and he _refused_ to use it), and a bath bomb (the latter not at Eddie’s request, but Richie figured he’d want to take a bath later).

When Richie returned he found that Eddie was asleep, the chicken broth was finished, and the water glass was half full. Thankfully, the wastebasket was empty. Richie refilled the water and cleaned up what little mess there was. He decided to leave the uneaten jello on the nightstand, in case Eddie wanted it later.

When he was finished Richie sat at the foot of the bed, careful to not wake Eddie up. He took this moment to, instead of doing something productive, gaze upon his sleeping boyfriend. Even when he was sick, Eddie looked incredibly cute. 

His dark brown hair, while matted down with sweat, looked as soft as it always did. His long eyelashes fanned out over his high cheekbones. His face was flushed pink with fever but it still looked adorable. His facial muscles were relaxed in sleep, rather than being strained with pain, and he was breathing easily through his slightly ajar mouth.

Before Richie could get too lost in how much he loved Eddie, Eddie woke up.

“Hey sweetie,” Richie greeted. “How are you feeling?”

“About the same,” Eddie croaked. “I haven’t thrown up yet but I’m still nauseous.”

“How’s your throat? Still sore?”

“Yeah, do you have lozenges?”

“They’re called cough drops, dumbass,” Richie teased, handing Eddie one from the bag. “Why the fuck are they called lozenges, anyway? They’re not even rhombus shaped.”

Eddie unwrapped the cough drop and popped it into his mouth. “They _were_ rhombus shaped when they were invented. The name just stuck, I guess. Wait, how do you even know what a lozenge shape is? Also, I’m surprised you said ‘rhombus’ and not ‘diamond’ shaped.”

Richie was silent for a moment.

“Wait, did you have to google what a lozenge _was?”_ Eddie laughed.

“Yes, because my family always called them ‘cough drops,’ you know, like normal people do. Calling them ‘lozenges’ just makes you sound like a pompous douche bag.”

“‘Pompous,’ huh? Your vocabulary is pretty broad today. Did you google the definition of _that_ word too?”

“Fuck you, I know big words. Just because I don’t have to flaunt my intelligence via extensive vocabulary doesn’t mean I’m simple, dick.”

Eddie giggled, trying not to laugh too hard, and Richie grinned.

"Do you need anything else? Like Sprite or something?” Richie asked.

“No, I think I’m good. I’m just gonna try to sleep.” Eddie answered with a yawn.

“Want me to keep you company?”

Eddie shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

After a minute of thought Richie said, “Alright, scoot over.”

“Why?”

“I’m gonna cuddle you.”

“Richie, _no._ I’m _sick_ dumbass. Do you wanna get sick too?”

“So what if I do? I want to make sure you know how loved you are. If that means I’m at risk of getting sick, so be it.”

“What if I don’t _want_ to be cuddled?”

“You usually do. Do you not want to be right now? Because if not, I can-”

Eddie sighed, “I _do_ want to.”

“Then scooch over, Eddio Spaghetti-O.”

Eddie, too weak to argue against the use of the awful nickname, scooted over so Richie would have enough room to slide in next to him. Richie made sure the blanket sufficiently covered both of them and soaked the wash cloth again before placing it on Eddie’s head. They both lay on their sides, facing each other. Richie wrapped both arms around Eddie’ waist, drawing them closer together.

Richie was _sure_ Eddie would complain about them breathing the same air but, surprisingly, he didn’t. Richie figured Eddie was done trying argue against them touching each other.

Eddie made a happy noise at the cool cloth against his forehead and Richie’s touch. Eddie curled closer to his boyfriend, wrapping his legs around his waist. Richie smiled and placed his chin on top of Eddie’s head, not minding the sweat-soaked hair.

Richie started humming softly, rubbing up and down the length of Eddie’s back.

Eddie mumbled something into Richie’s chest.

“Didn’t catch that.” Richie said.

Eddie pulled away slightly and repeated, “Why’re you humming?” with a small laugh. 

“I don’t know. I just thought it’d help you fall asleep easier. I can stop if you want me to. I know I’m not that great at singing.”

“No, I like it. It just surprised me.”

“Why?”

“Usually if you sing, you do it badly on purpose as a joke. I’ve never actually heard you sing seriously before.”

“Well, don’t get used to it.”

Richie had no clue why Eddie was making such a big deal out of this. Sure, Richie had never sang or hummed seriously in front of anyone before, but it’s not like his voice was even that good. His parents would usually tell him to stop when he was younger, so he hasn’t done it much since then.

“Why not?” Eddie whined. “I like it, like, a lot.”

The utter disappointment on Eddie’s face stunned Richie into silence. While Richie’s singing wasn’t as bad as the singing you would hear on failed _American Idol_ auditions, it wasn’t anything special. It definitely wasn’t anything that anyone, especially Eddie Kaspbrak, would want to listen to. Eddie’s mind was probably clouded over by fever at the moment.

“You wouldn’t if you were well, Eds.” Richie murmured.

“I’m sick not deaf,” Eddie said. “Your voice is pretty. You should sing more often.”

“I was humming. There’s a difference.”

“So? If you can hum that well, singing would probably be just as easy.”

Eddie looked at Richie with hopeful eyes and Richie just rolled his while continuing to rub Eddie’s back. Eddie sighed with a disheartened expression and buried his face in Richie’s chest. Richie’s heart clenched at how upset Eddie was. Oh well, he would get over it eventually.

They sat in silence for a moment with the only sounds being Eddie’s raspy breathing and Richie’s hand sliding over the fabric of Eddie’s t-shirt.

Richie finally sighed and said, “Fine, I’ll sing you to sleep. But I’m picking the song and if you make fun of me, I’m stopping.”

Eddie let out a soft gasp and pulled back, looking at Richie again with excitement in his bloodshot eyes. It was _super_ cute.

“Wait,” Eddie said, suddenly suspicious. “If you’re gonna sing that dumb song by Rick Astley, then forget it.”

Richie laughed. “Don’t worry, babe. I’m not going to Rickroll you.”

Eddie sighed with relief and went back to looking eager.

Richie took a breath, partially to brace himself for what he was about to do, then started singing Eddie’s favorite Billy Joel song.

Eddie’s jaw dropped in awe before Richie even sang the entire first line. Since he seemed to enjoy it so much Richie kept going, making sure to sing softly enough so Eddie’s headache wouldn’t get worse.

Eddie’s lips formed a sentimental smile, his eyes growing heavier as the song continued. By the time Richie sang the last lines, Eddie’s breathing evened out and he seemed to fall into a deep sleep.

Richie smiled fondly at his dozing boyfriend, his own shoulders relaxing. He wasn’t sure why he thought Eddie would make fun of him. Even if Richie’s singing _was_ bad, Eddie would never poke fun at something Richie was insecure about. 

Richie, figuring Eddie would be asleep for a while, decided to doze off with him.

***

Eddie woke up to see Richie was still cuddled up next to him, looking down at him with infatuation.

“Good morn- well, I guess it’s not morning. Good afternoon, sleepyhead.” Richie greeted.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Only a few hours. It’s, like, four. How are you feeling? You haven’t eaten in a while, do you want to try to eat something else?”

Eddie nodded.

“What do you want?”

“Toast.”

Richie nodded and stood from the bed. Before leaving the room, he helped Eddie sit up.

Eddie felt surprisingly better. The nausea was mostly gone and he was no longer as tired as he was before. Unfortunately he was still congested, his throat was still sore, his head still ached, he still had chills, he was still feverish, and now his muscles ached. He would gladly take all of these symptoms as long as the nausea was gone.

Richie returned with two slices of toast, a cup of Sprite, and the bottle of cold and flu medicine. He sat down at the foot of the bed, careful to not sit on Eddie’s feet.

“Wow, you made that without burning the house down? I’m impressed, Rich.” Eddie joked.

“That was _one time,_ Eddie,” Richie groaned. “When are you going to let it go?”

“Never,” Eddie smiled. “It was a Pop-Tart, Richie. You tried to make a _Pop-Tart_ and the toaster _caught on fire.”_

“I put it out before anything else caught on fire! Everything worked out, so I don’t know why you keep bringing it up.”

“Because it annoys you and I still find it funny.”

“I’m glad one of us does…” Richie murmured with an eye roll.

Eddie chuckled and started munching on his toast.

Richie picked up the medicine and started reading the instructions.

“It’s probably time for you to take this.” Richie said, holding it up.

“What time did you give it to me?”

“Around twelve.”

“Then you’re probably right.”

When Richie was done administering the medicine, he asked, “Do your head and throat still hurt?”

Eddie carefully nodded.

“Do you need any kind of medicine for those?”

“The headache isn’t that bad. I do need something for my throat, though.”

Richie handed Eddie another lozenge, thankfully not going on a tangent again, and Eddie started sucking on it. 

“Any new symptoms?” Richie asked.

“Yeah. My body aches.”

“Like, your _whole_ body?”

Eddie nodded.

“Yikes… Do you want to, maybe, take a bath?”

Eddie nodded again.

“I can go run it for you. How hot do you want the water?”

“Hot enough to steam but not scalding.”

“Gotcha.” Richie said, leaving the room again.

Eddie was able to finish his toast and drink his Sprite before Richie came back.

“It’s ready. Do you need help?”

“Like getting to the bathroom, or…?”

“With anything.”

Eddie thought for a moment before replying, “Yeah, I’ll need help getting there. And, as long as you can avoid being a total horndog, I probably need help getting undressed too.”

“Eds, I’m not going to get horny,” Richie said in disbelief. “Why do you think I would? You’re _sick.”_

“You don’t need to keep reminding me that I’m sick, asshat. I _know.”_ Eddie grumbled.

“I know you know,” Richie soothed. “The point I’m trying to make is, I’m not going to be turned on. While I love you with all my heart and you are the most attractive man I’ve ever laid my eyes on, I _know_ you feel awful. I don’t want to put you in that position when you don’t feel like it.”

“Okay.” Eddie said, satisfied with that statement

Richie helped Eddie to the bathroom and helped him sit on the closed toilet lid. 

“Lift your arms up.” Richie said.

Eddie did as he was told and Richie slid the sweat soaked t-shirt off. He tossed it to the floor and slid the socks off of Eddie’s feet. Richie hooked his finger in the waistband of Eddie’s sweatpants and slid them down. Eddie lifted his hips so Richie could get those and his boxers off.

Eddie crossed his arms, trying to hide the raised circle of scar tissue on his chest. It wasn’t that Richie had never seen him naked after the fight, they had both seen each other naked on _several_ occasions. When Richie did, though, Eddie never felt less insecure about it.

Richie reached forward and uncrossed Eddie’s arms. Eddie, too weak to keep them in place, went with it.

Richie leaned down and pressed a series of soft kisses to the scar, acquiring a small smile and some laughter from Eddie. 

Richie grinned and wrapped an arm around Eddie’s waist, helping him into the steamy water.

Eddie let out a relaxed sigh at the feeling of the hot water enveloping him. He could feel his muscles start to loosen and his chills started to subside. 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Richie said, getting something out of the bathroom cabinet.

Richie held up a lavender scented bath bomb and asked, “I got this at the store earlier. Want me to drop it in?”

Eddie’s heart melted at the consideration and he nodded with a smile.

Richie dropped the purple sphere in and it started to dissolve in the bathwater.

“Do you want to be alone or do you want me to stay?” Richie asked.

Eddie shrugged, “It doesn’t really matter.”

“I could wash your hair for you,” Richie suggested. “Or I could maybe give you a massage? If your muscles are looser, maybe they won’t ache as badly.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Yes.”

“Yes to what?” Richie giggled. “I gave you two options.”

“Both.”

Richie nodded then sat down on the edge of the tub and grabbed the apple-scented shampoo. 

“One more thing.” Eddie said.

“Yeah?” Richie asked, uncapping the bottle.

Eddie leaned closer to Richie and whispered, “If you don’t sing more often, I _will_ kill you.”

Richie laughed. “Why are you threatening me?”

“Your singing voice is beautiful,” Eddie said. “I’m straight up _pissed_ that you’ve been depriving me of that for so long.”

“Okay, I’ll sing you to sleep again tonight if you want me to.”

“No, every night.”

Richie just chuckled in response.

Richie’s voice _was_ beautiful. It was deep, he was most likely a tenor, and smooth as drizzling honey. When he sang that song, his voice lilted in all the right ways and he didn’t miss a _single_ note. 

Eddie’s upset that he fell asleep before the song ended, honestly. The fact that Richie didn’t think his voice was any good infuriated Eddie. The fact that Eddie, after all these years, didn’t know Richie could even sing infuriated him even more.

Richie squeezed the same amount of shampoo that Eddie usually used into the palm of his hand. Eddie dunked his head underwater for a minute, wetting his hair. Richie rubbed the shampoo onto both of his palms and started smoothing it through Eddie’s hair.

Eddie moaned and unwound further into the bathtub as Richie gently caressed his scalp. Eddie was glad he was able to convince Richie to get a manicure, because Richie’s perfectly trimmed nails scraped against Eddie’s scalp in an _extremely_ pleasant way.

Eddie’s back arched in pleasure as he pressed up into Richie’s touch. 

“Does it feel good?” Richie asked. 

Thankfully, there weren’t any traces of teasing in his question. Eddie probably would have killed him if there was.

“Yes.” Eddie sighed.

After Richie sufficiently shampooed Eddie’s hair, Richie rinsed it thoroughly with water from the detachable shower head.

Richie, knowing that Eddie would be mad if his hair wasn’t conditioned, grabbed the conditioner and squirted what he believed to be a sufficient amount into his hand. 

“This amount good?” Richie asked, showing it to Eddie.

Eddie nodded.

Richie combed the conditioner through Eddie’s hair, this feeling just as pleasant as the shampooing. When he was done, while they waited for the conditioner to do its job, Richie grabbed the lavender massage oil from the bathroom cabinet.

Eddie bought the oil for their one year anniversary, intending to use it on Richie. It turns out that Eddie sucks at giving massages. His presses were too light and he wasn’t strong enough to do it correctly. Richie just laughed and offered to switch places. Richie’s large hands rubbed Eddie’s muscles so well, he almost fell asleep. It _really_ pissed Eddie off. 

Even though Eddie wasn’t able to give good massages, he gave _amazing_ back scratches. Richie had said he would “gladly take a back scratch over a massage any day.” So, at least Eddie was able to return the favor in _some_ way.

Richie poured some oil onto his hands, rubbing them together to warm everything up. When he was finished doing that, Richie started massaging Eddie’s shoulders.

Eddie groaned and felt any remaining tension fall out of his body. 

“Feeling any better?” Richie asked.

If Eddie were thinking clearly, he would’ve given a snarky answer. Since he felt like his head was filled with cotton, he replied, “Yessss. Please keep going.”

“Sure thing.”

Richie worked the aches out of Eddie’s shoulders, neck, arms, back, and legs with his magical hands. It was a little difficult for him to massage Eddie’s back and legs properly, but he made it work.

Once Richie had rinsed Eddie’s hair again and made sure his body was clean, he drained the tub. Richie helped Eddie out of the bathtub and wrapped him in a towel. Richie helped him sit on the closed toilet lid.

“I’m going to go get you some clothes,” Richie said. “What do you want to wear?”

“A hoodie and sweatpants.” Eddie mumbled, feeling euphoric.

Richie left to retrieve the requested items and Eddie felt _extremely_ happy. 

Just a year ago he was living in New York City, taking about a thousand phony medications, and unhappily married to a woman who was just like his mother. Since he was working a job that he liked, he didn’t realize how _miserable_ he actually was. He constantly went through the motions. He woke up, went to work, and came back home only to sleep next to a woman that he felt _nothing_ for. When they slept, they stayed on opposite sides of the bed and hardy ever touched each other.

Now he’s living in LA. While he still uses his inhaler sometimes, he has been attending therapy and is off all of the other stuff. He’s still working the job he loves and he’s dating _Richie Tozier._ He’s dating a funny, attractive, and caring man who treats Eddie better than anyone else has ever treated him. 

He wakes up every morning to Richie smiling at him drowsily. They both bicker and laugh over breakfast, always about something different. Then Richie starts writing stand up routines at home while Eddie goes to work. While he still loves his job, it’s the worst part of Eddie’s day because it’s the only time he isn’t with Richie.

When Eddie gets home from work, Richie’s always doing something different. Sometimes he’s still writing, reading his new routine aloud to himself, or making origami cranes to combat writer’s block. Sometimes he’s trying to make Eddie dinner, which would be sweet if Richie didn’t always burn it. Sometimes he’s texting Bill and Mike, skyping Ben and Bev, or yelling at Stan on the phone. 

Then, before falling asleep, they usually mess around before cuddling. No, scratch that. What Eddie did with Myra was “messing around.” What Eddie did with Richie was _lovemaking._

They never stay confined to their own side of the bed either. Even if they don’t fall asleep cuddling, they wake up with their limbs tangled and their bodies flush against each other.

There is never a dull moment with Richie Tozier and Eddie is the happiest he has ever been in his entire life. He knew for sure, he would rather be sick with the flu while living with Richie than be healthy while living with Myra.

Eddie felt tears start to fall down his face.

“I’m back, Eds. I hope the color doesn’t ma-” 

Richie immediately sat the folded clothes down before kneeling in front of Eddie and studying him with worried eyes.

“Eds, what’s wrong?” Richie asked, panicked. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Eddie assured him with a small smile. “These are happy tears. I’m okay, I promise.”

Richie’s shoulders visibly relaxed and he let out a sigh of relief. “Whew, thank goodness. Damn, what made you so happy? Not that I don’t want you to be happy, just curious.”

“Just thinking about how great my life is and how thankful I am to be dating you. Sometimes I forget how much my life fucking _sucked_ before the fight. Now, my life’s amazing and I’m really happy.”

“Oh...” Richie said, sounding choked up and smiling affectionately. “Glad I actually made you happy for _once.”_

“You make me happy all the time, drama queen,” Eddie giggled. “Usually it’s hidden under the annoyance.”

Richie dried Eddie off the rest of the way with the towel and helped him get dressed. 

“You know I feel the same way, right?” Richie asked, sliding Eddie’s boxers on him.

“What do you mean? “Eddie asked, lifting his hips slightly.

“My life ‘fucking sucked’ before the fight, too.” Richie clarified, sliding the black sweatpants on.

“Really?” Eddie asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Richie said, kissing Eddie’s scar again before sliding the red hoodie on. “I was living here by myself. I didn’t really have any friends, since I forgot about everyone, and my anxiety caused me to keep to myself. I dragged myself out of bed to go to some club and perform a stand up routine that I didn’t even write. Then I would come back home and do whatever I wanted before going to bed. Everyday was lonely and more boring than one of Stan’s bird books.”

Eddie chuckled.

“Now, I get to write and perform my own material. Then I get to see you and talk to the other losers every day. I’m never alone or bored. My life’s awesome and I’m _really_ happy.”

Eddie smiled and pulled Richie in for a kiss.

The kiss only lasted for 0.2 seconds before Eddie pulled away.

“Shit!” Eddie exclaimed. “I _can’t_ kiss you. I’m contagious!”

“Eduardo,” Richie began. “It’s probably already in my system, anyway. I’ve been touching you all over the place and we’ve been breathing the same air for hours.”

A fresh wave of guilt washed over Eddie. He should’ve been more diligent in making sure Richie didn’t catch whatever he had.

At seeing the expression on Eddie’s face, Richie said, “Don’t feel bad. The point I’m trying to make is, kiss me all you want to. If I get sick, it's my own fault for not being careful, not yours.”

Eddie, still unconvinced, nodded.

“So, where do you want to go? Living room or bedroom?”

Eddie paused to think, then responded, “Living room. I wanna watch Netflix.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Richie said, wrapping an arm around Eddie’s waist.

***

Richie helped Eddie sit on the couch before going to the kitchen to get him more Sprite and some crackers. When Richie came back, he sat next to Eddie and draped a blanket over both of them. When Eddie finally decided on _The Office_ Richie laughed.

“Again?” Richie teased.

Just like the rest of the population, Eddie and Richie have watched this show the whole way through _multiple times._

“Shut up,” Eddie grumbled. “You like it too.”

“Yeah, I do.” Richie admitted, draping an arm around Eddie.

When they were only a few minutes into the episode, Richie’s cell phone rang. Richie sighed in annoyance, thinking his manager was calling, and he took the phone out of his pocket. Richie’s eyes lit up when he saw Stan Uris was calling.

“Who is it?” Eddie asked, pausing the show.

“Stan the man,” Richie answered. “Want me to tell him to fuck off?”

“Put him on speaker,” Eddie laughed. “I want to talk to him.”

Richie answered the call and did what Eddie asked him to.

“Hey Staniel!” Richie greeted.

“Richie!” Stan exclaimed. “Apollo said fuck!”

“Did he?” Richie asked, laughing. “That’s great!”

“No it’s not!” Stan yelled, enraged. “This is your fault, dick.”

Richie cackled and Eddie looked at him in confusion.

“Stan, Richie has the phone on speaker,” Eddie said. “Who’s Apollo?”

“Oh, hello Eds,” Stan greeted, his previous anger now forgotten. “Apollo is my Quaker parrot. I _was_ trying to teach him phrases in latin but your boyfriend thought it would be a good idea to pepper curses into his phone calls so Apollo would pick them up.”

“Oh no!” Eddie laughed.

“Yeah, so now I have to deal with _that._ I’m just glad Patty thinks it’s funny because I _certainly_ don’t!” Stan grumbled, his anger returning.

“It’s your own fault for having your phone on speaker, Stanny.” Richie teased.

“I _have_ to have phone conversations on speaker. I’m always doing shit when you call me.” Stan griped.

“That’s why you need to master the art of holding your phone between your ear and shoulder like moms do.” Richie said. 

“I tried that once,” Stan stated. “I dropped the phone and the screen shattered. Anyway, how are you doing Eddie?”

“I have the flu.” Eddie said.

“Oh, shit. That’s rough. How are you feeling?”

“A lot better,” Eddie said, sipping his Sprite. “Richie’s been taking good care of me.”

Stan laughed. “You’re kidding me, right? The same guy who killed his fern as a teenager is able to take care of a human person?”

“Fuck you, Stan. That was _years_ ago. I was _twelve.”_

“It doesn’t matter,” Stan decided. “You killed the plant after having it for _two days.”_

“My mom didn’t remind me to water it and I forgot!”

“Plants don’t die after not being watered for _two days.”_

“He also made me toast without burning down the house.” Eddie piped.

“Just don’t ask him to make you a Pop-Tart.” Stan laughed.

“Fuck you! Fuck both of you!” Richie cried. “It’s good to know you guys can’t let go of shit that happened _years_ ago!”

“The Pop-Tart incident was last month.” Eddie giggled.

Richie made a frustrated noise and the other two laughed.

“Anyway,” Stan said. “I have to go. Patty and I are about to have dinner.”

“Wait a minute,” Richie told him. “I have a question to ask you first. I was actually going to call and ask you later.”

“Oh dear…” Stan sighed. “What’s the question, Richie?”

“Those tablets you suck on to quell coughs or help a sore throat, what are those called?” Richie inquired.

Eddie rolled his eyes and Stan laughed.

“What a peculiar inquiry,” Stan mused. “Also ‘quell’? I’m surprised to hear you use such a word.”

“He also said ‘pompous’ earlier,” Eddie giggled. “He has an extensive vocabulary today.”

“Babe,” Richie whined. “Stop making fun of me. Answer the question, Stan.”

“I call them ‘lozenges.’” Stan answered.

Eddie smirked.

“Are you kidding?” Richie groaned. “Good to know you’re _also_ weird, Stan.”

“Do you call them ‘cough drops?’” Stan asked, amused.

“Yes, Stan,” Richie grumbled. “Yes I do. Like a _normal person.”_

“Why does it matter?” Stan asked.

“Because I thought _Eddie_ was the weird one for calling it a ‘lozenge.’ Turns out you’re _both_ weird. What does Patty call them?”

“She calls them ‘lozenges’ too.” 

“There’s no fucking way-”

“I call them ‘lozenges.’” Patty confirms from a distance. “You’re not wrong to call them ‘cough drops’ though. You can call them whatever you want.”

“At least _someone_ doesn’t think I’m wrong.” Richie griped.

“I didn’t say you were!” Eddie cried indignantly.

“Alright, Stan,” Richie said, calmer. “We’ll let you go, so you can eat.”

“Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow,” Stan promised. “Bye Rich. Bye Eddie, I hope you feel better.”

“Bye Stan.” both said in unison, then Richie ended the call.

“You’re not going to let it go, are you?” Eddie asked.

“No.” Richie grumbled.

Eddie giggled, causing Richie to smile begrudgingly.

Richie loved the sound of Eddie’s laugh. He could be having the worst day ever and he would feel better within _seconds_ after hearing that beautiful noise.

Eddie resumed the episode they were previously watching, curling closer to Richie. Richie wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and pressed several kisses into the crown of his head. Eddie sighed happily, starting to scratch Richie’s back underneath his button up shirt. Richie sighed, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head, still kissing Eddie’s hair and all over his face. They both relaxed into each other’s embrace, only halfway paying attention to the TV. 

***

After spending the evening cuddling and binge watching shows on Netflix, they started unwinding before going to sleep. They both sat up in bed, sipping tea from mugs they painted for each other. Eddie’s was gray with white polka dots on it. Richie’s was yellow with pink flowers. 

Richie gave Eddie more medicine and checked his temperature again.

“You’re down to 101.3” Richie announced.

“That’s good,” Eddie sighed. “I should be better in a couple of days.”

Richie nodded, setting their empty mugs on the nightstand.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Eddie said, wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck. “You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

“Nah,” Richie responded, putting his hands on Eddie’s waist. “I’m the second best. Someone else has me beat.”

Eddie beamed and Richie laughed, kissing him on the nose.

“You ready to go to sleep?” Richie asked.

Eddie nodded and Richie turned the lamp off before both of them lied down.

Eddie immediately wrapped both legs and arms around Richie, wanting to be as close to him as possible. Eddie couldn’t believe how clingy he was being. Thankfully, Richie didn’t seem to mind. The taller man just chuckled, drawing Eddie closer to him. 

Eddie rested his chin on Richie’s chest and looked into his eyes. Richie’s eyes shone in adoration as he looked down at Eddie. Richie pressed delicate kisses to Eddie’s neck and collarbone.

Eddie hummed happily and asked, “Can you sing for me?”

Richie, looking slightly perplexed, answered, “Sure. What do you want me to sing?”

“Anything but that one dumb song.” Eddie said.

Richie laughed, “Still worried about me Rickrolling you? I guess that’s fair, I do that frequently. Do you want me to sing the one I sang earlier or something different?”

“If you’re going to sing around the house after this, the same one. If this is the last time I’ll ever hear you, something different.” Eddie murmured.

The concept of Richie never singing again made Eddie really sad but, if Richie didn’t want to, Eddie couldn’t force him to.

“I mean, I _like_ singing,” Richie admitted. “I just don’t do it that often.”

“If you like to, then why don’t you do it?”

“I used to sing around the house when I was younger. Usually my mom or dad would tell me to stop, they probably wanted peace and quiet. So, eventually, I did. I stopped singing for good when I was, like, nine or something.”

“That’s sad. You know that if you ever sang around any of the losers we wouldn’t tell you to stop, right?”

“Yeah, I know. I just always thought my voice sucked, that’s why I never did it.”

“Well, it doesn’t suck. Your voice is _gorgeous_ and even if I loose my fucking dignity, I will literally _beg_ you to sing more often.”

Richie, probably realizing how important this was to Eddie, said, “Okay. I’ll definitely sing more often.”

“Really?” Eddie asked enthusiastically.

“Yes,” Richie laughed. “Now, get comfy angel. I’ll sing that one song again.”

Eddie adjusted himself slightly and Richie sang the Billy Joel song again. Richie brushed his fingers through Eddie’s hair and down his back, his nails scratching lightly up and down. Eddie fell asleep within minutes, feeling as content as he could feel while still being sick. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a link to the Billy Joel song Richie sang to Eddie if you want to listen to it. I love it so much! (Yes this is where the title come from lol):  
> https://youtu.be/gav66byYJMw
> 
> I had so much fun writing this! I was honestly thinking of adding another chapter where Richie gets sick instead (Let's be real, there's no way he got out unscathed lol). Please let me know if you might be interested in that or if I should just leave it here. 
> 
> I think that's all I wanted to say lol. Have a nice day!


	2. Bring him peace, bring him joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie’s hated germs all of his life. His mom conditioned him into thinking he was fragile and needed to be handled like he was made of glass. As a result he washed his hands until they bled, sanitized his hands until he could practically taste the alcohol, and taken sugar pills until his throat ached. Seeing a dirty tissue in a garbage can made him gag, seeing someone cough into their elbow made him flinch, and being within a five mile radius of someone with a simple cold made his heart race.
> 
> He isn’t as bad now as he was when he was younger. He’s been attending therapy for a solid year and he’s improved immensely. Even though he’s better now, he still severely struggles with it. 
> 
> Richie was right, Eddie hated germs and sickness with a burning passion. However since Eddie loved Richie with everything in him, he decided to suck it up and be there for him.
> 
> Or
> 
> Richie gets sick and Eddie takes care of him this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is here!
> 
> A few warnings
> 
> First of all, there are spoilers for the musical Les Misérables. So, there's that.
> 
> Secondly, there are descriptions of sickness. I don't go into extreme detail but it's there.
> 
> Thirdly, Richie's relationship with his parents is mentioned. If implied/referenced child neglect bothers you, be careful.
> 
> Fourthly, Eddie's relationships with Sonia and Myra are mentioned. These relationships are abusive. If implied/mentioned abuse bothers you, be careful. Again, it doesn't go into extreme detail but it's there.
> 
> Fifthly, there is a homophobic slur used that starts with an f. It's only there once and never again.
> 
> Last warning, a character has a panic attack. It's not written from that same character's POV, but they have one.
> 
> I hope I covered everything. If there is anything else alarming that I didn't mention and need to, please (politely) tell me in the comments.
> 
> So, enjoy the last chapter!

Eddie walked up the steps of his and Richie’s house to the front door. 

Eddie, as he always was, was excited to see his boyfriend again. Even though he saw Richie earlier that morning when they ate breakfast together, he still missed Richie when he was at work. He recovered from having the flu yesterday and deemed himself healthy enough to go back to work this morning. Even though he wanted nothing more than to spend the whole day with Richie, Eddie had missed work for long enough. 

When Eddie tried to open the front door, he realized it was locked. He sighed, wondering why the fuck Richie locked it in the first place, and fished his keyring out of his pocket. He found the house key and unlocked the door. He tried to walk inside but the door’s deadbolt was locked, so it wouldn’t budge.

Muttering a string of curses under his breath, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to text Richie.

 **Eddie:** Why the fuck is the deadbolt locked? Why are you locking me out of my own damn house?

He got a reply within seconds.

 **Chee:** You don’t wanna come inside Eds. Trust me

Eddie sighed in exasperation and annoyance, rapidly typing a reply.

 **Eddie:** Yes I do, dumbass. I’m tired and I’ve missed you. I want to come in and sit on the couch with you. Stop being as cryptic as a quest giving NPC in a video game. Tell me why you don’t want me to come inside.

 **Chee:** Awww you missed me

 **Eddie:** Shut the fuck up and answer my question, dick.

 **Chee:** I’m sick.

Eddie felt his stomach drop and, after a moment of hesitation, he drafted his response with shaky hands.

 **Eddie:** What?

 **Chee:** I threw up this morning after you left. I confined myself in the bedroom and haven’t come out since I locked the front door. I did this to keep germs out of the rest of the house but I”m not sure that it did any good. I know you hate germs and sickness so just find a hotel room until I feel better. 

The pang of heartache in Eddie’s chest at the thought of Richie isolating himself while he’s sick pushed down the anxiety bubbling in his core. 

**Eddie:** Unlock the door.

 **Chee:** Eds no. I don’t want you to freak out. Just go find a hotel room. I’ll be better in a few days.

 **Eddie:** Un. Lock. The. Door. Now. Asshole

Eddie waited a moment before drafting up another threatening message but, before he could send it, Richie came to the door. 

Richie unlocked the deadbolt, cracking the door slightly but leaning his weight on it to keep Eddie from forcing it open. What little Eddie could see of Richie looked _awful._ His dark curls were matted down with sweat, his face was flushed red, there were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, and his body was shaking from having to stand. 

Eddie couldn’t believe Richie went from looking fine to looking like _this_ in a few mere hours.

“Eds,” Richie croaked, his throat must be _killing_ him. “You don’t wanna be here. I’m _sick,_ dude. You have to go to a hotel or something while I recover.”

“You’re not going to recover if nobody’s taking care of you, you fucking moron.” Eddie stated, no heat to his words. “Let me inside.”

“But-” Richie started.

“No ‘buts,’” Eddie cut him off. “Let me in. This is _my_ house too. You can’t just kick me out.”

“I’m not ‘kicking you out’ if you wanna go,” Richie mumbled, his knees nearly giving out.

“Well I _don’t_ want to, dipshit. I want to come inside. _Let. Me. In.”_

After a pause, Richie sighed in defeat and opened the door the rest of the way. 

As soon as Eddie made it inside, Richie was already halfway up the stairs. He was moving as fast as he could while being so weak, trying to get away from Eddie. Eddie’s heart _hurt_ at seeing his haste, but it was justified. 

Eddie’s hated germs all of his life. His mom conditioned him into thinking he was fragile and needed to be handled like he was made of glass. As a result he washed his hands until they bled, sanitized his hands until he could practically _taste_ the alcohol, and taken sugar pills until his throat ached. Seeing a dirty tissue in a garbage can made him gag, seeing someone cough into their elbow made him flinch, and being within a five mile radius of someone with a simple cold made his heart race.

He isn’t as bad now as he was when he was younger. He’s been attending therapy for a solid year and he’s improved _immensely._ Even though he’s better now, he still severely struggles with it. 

Richie was right, Eddie _hated_ germs and sickness with a burning passion. However since Eddie loved Richie with everything in him, he decided to suck it up and be there for him.

Eddie pulled a face mask over his nose and mouth, then put on a pair of disposable gloves. He grabbed the forehead thermometer, a bottle of cold and flu medicine, and a can of disinfectant spray.

Steeling his resolve, Eddie strode upstairs to the bedroom.

When he got there, he saw Richie was sprawled out over the bed. Richie was rubbing his forehead and his eyes were squeezed shut. His breathing was wheezy and pained.

Eddie sat what he brought on the nightstand and got the thermometer ready.

“Chee,” Eddie said softly. “I’m going to check your temperature.”

“Eds,” Richie sighed, opening his eyes. “You need to _go._ Seriously, I’m pretty bad off right now.”

“Richie,” Eddie groaned. “Stop it. Please stop with this ‘you need to leave’ bullshit. You obviously caught this from me, meaning it’s the same virus strain that I had. When your body catches a specific strain of a virus, it develops antibodies for said virus. Meaning I _literally can’t_ catch it again, at least not from you. So, honestly, I have _absolutely nothing_ to be scared of.”

“Then why do you have a face mask and gloves on?” Richie asked.

“Some things take time,” Eddie sighed. “I _am_ better than I was but I’m still freaked out by germs. I may wear these while I’m around you but I’m definitely not running for the hills. I’m taking care of you like you took care of me. Okay?”

Richie, seeming to accept this response, nodded.

When Richie let go of his forehead, Eddie swiped the thermometer across and almost booked it out of the room at seeing the 102.8 rating.

 _Relax,_ he told himself. _It doesn’t yet warrant a hospital visit. You’re fine. Everything’s fine._

“What is it?” Richie asked worriedly.

“You definitely have a fever,” Eddie said, only half answering. “Time to take some medicine.”

Eddie poured some medicine into the small, plastic cup and offered it to Richie. Richie sat up, his back now against the headboard, and he grimaced.

“Do I _have_ to take that?” Richie groaned.

“Yes. Yes you do.”

“Eddie…”

“Richie, you are forty fucking years old and a grown ass adult. Stop acting like a child and take the fucking medicine.”

Richie begrudgingly took the cup from Eddie and knocked it back like it was a shot glass. Once he swallowed it, he stuck his tongue out in disgust. Eddie rolled his eyes at the dramatics and put the cup back.

“How the fuck did _you_ drink that shit?” Richie asked, bewildered.

“Well, I grew up practically chugging this stuff.” Eddie mumbled, slightly bitter.

Eddie knew that Richie wasn’t thinking clearly, since he was ill, but the _last_ thing Eddie wanted was to be reminded of the abuse he suffered by his mother’s hand.

“Shit, Eds. I’m sorry, I should’ve thought abou-”

“It’s fine,” Eddie snapped, cutting him off. “I’m going to go make you some chicken broth. Just stay here and rest.”

With that Eddie left the room, sprayed himself down with disinfectant, and went to the kitchen.

***

Richie grimaced at hearing the spraying sound once Eddie left the room, his earlier guilt now magnified. If Richie’s brain wasn’t clouded by the flu, he wouldn’t have asked Eddie the question about the medicine. He _knew_ Eddie spent his entire childhood and most of his adulthood taking thousands of placebos and legitimate medicines. So obviously Eddie would be used to the taste of basic cold and flu medicine. Richie felt bad enough that he upset Eddie but he felt even worse knowing Eddie was currently living his worst nightmare thanks to Richie’s carelessness and lack of caution.

As Richie sat there waiting for Eddie to return, he grabbed his phone and texted Stan.

 **Richie:** Yoooooo Staniel

 **Stan the Man:** Hello, Rich.

 **Riche:** I’m bored and lonely send noods

Stan, seeming to humor Richie for some odd reason, sent Richie a stock photo of a bowl of noodles with chopsticks stuck in them. Richie laughed and was sent into a coughing fit, thankfully not throwing up again.

 **Richie:** Stany the Manny gets off a good one!

 **Stan:** Honestly, I’m surprised to see you use punctuation. You barely even type periods or apostrophes. I feel like I’m having a stroke when I try to read your text messages.

 **Richie:** I had to get my excitement across. Also it’s not my fault you type texts like you’re writing a fucking essay 

**Stan:** Why are you lonely, anyway? Isn’t Eddie supposed to be home right now?

 **Richie:** He’s in the kitchen making me chicken broth. I caught his flu

Just then, Eddie came back with the chicken broth and a glass of water. He sat both items on the nightstand and immediately took a few steps back. Richie’s heart ached but, since he knew this was Eddie’s biggest fear, he stayed silent. Thankfully, though, Eddie didn’t seem mad at him anymore.

“Thanks Eds,” Richie said. “I’m sorry for bringing up the medicine thing. It was insensitive. It’s just hard to think normally when your brain is foggy with an illness.”

“It’s alright,” Eddie said, his gaze soft. “I know it’s hard for you to think clearly right now. I shouldn’t have been so defensive.”

Richie just shrugged it off, taking a small sip of water.

“So, do you need anything else before I go?” Eddie asked, shifting from foot to foot.

 _He probably can’t wait to get out of here and away from me._ Richie thought miserably.

“I wish I were healthier,” Richie said. “I _really_ wanna cuddle with you.”

“We will when you get better,” Eddie insisted. “I promise.”

Richie nodded, trying not to let the disappointment show on his face.

“So, do you need anything else?” Eddie inquired again.

“No, I’m good.” Richie said.

Eddie nodded, seeming relieved, then left the room.

Richie sighed, feeling lonely again.

He remembers getting sick as a kid and teenager. He would wake up with body aches, shivering and vomiting. His mother would check his temperature, then leave him a glass of water and medicine before leaving for work. 

He would then sit there alone, all day long, in his room. Since he never had enough energy to go get himself something to eat (and the nausea didn’t give him the desire to eat) he would lie there in his bed, vomiting up his own stomach acid a million times over while chugging cold and flu medicine. He prayed that he would recover quickly, so he could see his friends and no longer be isolated in his room. 

This wasn’t as bad, obviously. Eddie brought him some food and made sure he was okay before leaving. That was more than his parents ever did for him, but the memories were still there. They were currently fixed to the forefront of his mind and it didn’t seem like they would leave him in peace anytime soon.

Just then, he saw Stan’s reply.

 **Stan:** That’s rough, I’m sorry. I hope you feel better! I’m sure you won’t be lonely for long. I bet Eddie will start cuddling with you when he brings you your chicken broth :)

Richie felt his heart clench at seeing the message. Then, in a moment of lonely desperation, he sent a text message he would _never_ send if he were in his right mind.

 **Richie:** I wish he would but he’s not :(

Richie slowly sipped his broth and water, hot tears steadily streaming down his flushed face. He hoped he would get better soon, so Eddie could deliver on the promise he just made.

***

Eddie put the dishes he just cleaned into the drainer and his cellphone rang. He pulled it out of the pocket of his jeans to see that Stan Uris was calling.

“Hey Stan,” Eddie greeted. “What’s going on? Did you want to talk to Richie?”

“No Eddie,” Stan responded, his tone slightly tense. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Okay, what’s going on?” Eddie asked. “Is everything alright?”

“Not really,” Stan said sharply. “I have a bone to pick with you, if I may.”

“Stan, wha-”

“Let me finish, please.”

Eddie fell silent, wanting to know what was going on.

“Richie texted me. He told me he caught your flu. Is that correct?”

“Yeah,” Eddie responded. “I urged him to take precautions so he wouldn’t get sick but he didn’t listen to me. It’s his own fault he caught-”

“A simple ‘yes’ would’ve been sufficient, Mr. Kaspbrak. Now, please, let me finish before you interject. If I ask you a question, _please_ stick to one or two word responses.”

Damn, Mr. Kaspbrak? Stan only reverted to a last name basis when he was _truly_ pissed. If Stan is mad about something, it _must_ be important.

“Sure Stan,” Eddie managed. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you,” Stan began. “When you were sick with the flu, did Richie take good care of you?”

“Yes.” Eddie answered, slightly bewildered.

 _Why wouldn’t he take good care of me?_ he thought. _Richie’s amazing._

“I remember you sent a selfie of you two to the group chat,” Stan continued. “You were wrapped up in each other’s arms under a blanket. The selfie was in response to Beverly complaining about how cold she and Ben were, since their heat was out. The caption under your photo was, I believe, ‘My mans is keeping me warm’ with what seemed to be about a thousand different heart emojis. Even though you were sick with the flu, and highly contagious, Richie still maintained physical contact with you. Did he cuddle with you frequently?”

Hearing Stan say “my mans” would’ve been funny under normal circumstances, but these were not normal. 

“Yeah,” Eddie responded. “More than usual.”

“So, even though you were _highly contagious,_ he still willingly touched you?”

“Yes.”

“Then why can’t you do the same for him?”

Eddie paused, caught off guard by the accusing tone.

“You know how I am when it comes to germs, Stan.” Eddie finally answered. “I’m better than I was but I’m still not where I should be.”

“I know this is your phobia,” Stan stated, his tone softening. “I understand this is hard for you. You do realize you can’t catch the flu a second time, right? At least, not the same strain.”

“I know,” Eddie responded. “I realize that. Phobias are irrational, Stan. That’s the textbook definition. I _know_ I won’t catch it again. That doesn’t make me any less afraid.”

“Do you know how his parents treated him when he got the flu?” Stan asked.

“No,” Eddie answered cautiously. “How did they treat him?”

“Well they had a bad habit of neglecting him, but I’m sure you already knew that. When his mother would check his temperature to confirm that he did, in fact, have the flu, she would give him medicine and leave. His father wouldn’t even go into his room at all. I haven’t the faintest idea why they avoided him. Maybe they didn’t want to catch it either, maybe they just forgot about him, I’m not sure. So Richie would sit there, all by himself, taking the medicine she gave him and drinking water. His parents wouldn’t even give him any fucking food. He would just starve his fever until he got better.”

Eddie’s heart clenched and he felt his eyes water.

“His parents deprived him of physical touch and affection _constantly._ It was even worse when he was sick. I remember hugging him and cuddling with him regularly because _they_ obviously weren’t going to. Richie craves physical touch all the time, especially from you, under normal circumstances. His need for tangible contact is amplified when he’s sick or emotional.

“So, being a Risk Analyst, you should know what the chances are of you catching what he has. So, what are the chances that he caught this from you in the first place?”

“Pretty high.” Eddie managed, a lump still in the back of his throat.

“Do you have a specific percentage in mind?”

 _“At least_ 90.”

“That’s a pretty good chance, then. So, since the virus he has is most likely from you, what is the percent chance that you’ll catch it again?”

“If it’s the same flu strain, then zero.”

“Then, theoretically, you could _make out_ with him and you would be perfectly fine.”

Normally, the thought of Eddie making out with Richie would make him half hard. Since Richie was sick, the thought made his palms sweat.

“Now, I’m not saying you _have_ to do that,” Stan said. “I’m just saying, you’re not going to catch the flu again. So, the only thing stopping you from giving him physical affection is your own irrational thought process. Logically speaking, this should be _easy,_ but I know emotions also have a hand in this equation. So instead of thinking about how scared you are of sickness, think about how much you love Richie. Think about how sad and lonely he is right now. Then think about how much happier he would be if you’re there to give him love.”

This was the moment that the dam broke. Tears were now flowing freely down Eddie’s face like a waterfall. He tried not to sob, so Stan wouldn’t pity him, but crying softly is something Eddie has always been terrible at.

“Shit,” Stan muttered. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, Eddie. Honestly, I’m not trying to guilt trip you or make you feel awful. All I’m trying to do is give you something to focus on other than your fear. I’m sorry if I came across as angry or accusatory, that wasn’t my intention. Richie is my best friend and I don’t want him to feel like his parents made him feel. I know you’re not doing this on purpose, you’re just afraid and that’s okay. None of us are strangers to fear, I think the seven of us are well acquainted with it at this point.

“Eddie, you’re braver than you think, especially when it comes to Richie. I _know_ you can do this. You just have to think about how much you love him and you’ll be able to power through. Even if you can’t constantly touch him, just please promise me that you’ll at least _try.”_

Eddie cleared his throat, took a breath, and responded with, “I promise, Stan.”

“Good,” Stan said, seeming satisfied with that answer. “I have to go now. Patty and I have to run errands. My advice, just don’t think too hard. Just do it. Be like Richie. Throw caution to the fucking wind and do things without considering the consequences.”

Eddie laughed, “Okay, I can try that. Bye Stan, and, thanks. Thank you for telling me all of this. I had _no idea_ I was hurting him.”

“I know you didn’t,” Stan assured. “That’s why I called to tell you. I’ll talk to you later, Eddie.”

With that, the call ended. Eddie wiped the last residual tears off of his face and took off the face mask and gloves. Taking Stan’s advice, Eddie started thinking about how much he loved Richie before going upstairs.

There were _plenty_ of times Richie has taken care of Eddie.

When they were thirteen, Eddie had an asthma attack at school. He tried taking a puff of his inhaler but it was empty. Bill and Stan were considering taking him to the nurse, but Richie sprung into action. Even though there were plenty of their peers present in the hallway, and Richie knew how people would perceive him after this, he cupped Eddie’s face in his hands. He urged him to take slow, deep breaths until Eddie finally started breathing normally again.

After they fought Pennywise, Eddie had been recovering in the hospital from his surgery. All the other losers kept him company for the first couple days but they had to return to their own homes; Mike was busy packing his things so he could get the hell out of Derry. Myra, Eddie’s _own wife,_ wouldn’t even come to the hospital. She claimed she was “too busy” but she would “see you when you get back to New York.” 

Even though the other losers kept in touch digitally, he still felt lonely. Richie was the only person who stayed at the hospital with him while he recovered. His manager called, pissed that he wouldn’t go back to LA, threatening to fire him if he didn’t. Richie’s response was, “If you’re going to fire me for being there for my best friend, then go ahead and fucking fire me!” as he hung up. 

He stayed with Eddie until he was discharged, cracking jokes and smiling broadly when he got Eddie to laugh. He taught Eddie how to fold paper cranes out of napkins and showed him memes on his phone. He slept on the uncomfortable couch in Eddie’s room at night and even gave Eddie a purple elephant stuffed animal that he got from the hospital gift shop (his name is Peanut. He chills in the toy hammock with the other stuffed animals he and Richie got for each other). 

A few days ago when Eddie contracted the flu, Richie took _excellent_ care of him. He made sure Eddie was comfortable and always asked how Eddie wanted to be taken care of. Richie cuddled with him, kissed him everywhere, and serenaded him with his lovely voice. 

Eddie _constantly_ protested, saying that Richie would get sick if he kept touching him. Richie just responded that he didn’t care and that he would willingly be sick for _weeks_ if it meant that Eddie would feel loved while he was ill.

Eddie felt fresh guilt whack him in the face so hard he recoiled. He felt like he could sink to the cold, tile floor and weep for _hours._ Since Richie needed him, he blinked back the tears and took a breath before walking to the bedroom.

***

Richie had just finished his broth and his stomach was currently churning, his digestive system debating on whether or not to process what was put into it. He was scrolling through his Instagram explore page, looking at memes. 

Richie expected to be alone in his bedroom all day and all night. He expected Eddie to sleep on the couch and stay downstairs, as far away from Richie as he could get without actually leaving the house. He knew Eddie would take care of him, making sure he was fed and comfortable, even if he stayed away most of the time. 

What he did _not_ expect was for Eddie to come rushing into the bedroom, _without a face mask or gloves,_ and pulling Richie into a bone-crushing hug.

“Eddie... what are you _doing?”_ Richie asked, astounded by his actions.

Eddie didn’t answer, just muttering, “I’m sorry…” over and over while kissing the crown of Richie’s head.

The sudden physical affection, after being deprived of it for hours, caught Richie off guard. At first he just sat there, not hugging Eddie back or really reacting at all. After a moment, he hugged Eddie back just as tightly and started crying again.

Normally he would inwardly reprimand himself for even _thinking_ about crying, but he didn’t care. He was tired, nauseous, hot, cold, and his whole body hurt. Richie Tozier couldn’t possibly give less of a fuck than he does right now, and _that’s_ saying something.

After a few minutes of Eddie kissing Richie, whispering apology after apology in his ear, and hugging him as firmly as he could without doing any harm, Richie finally calmed down.

Eddie pulled back slightly to look at Richie, his eyes also teary, and gave him a sincere smile.

“Wow, Eds,” Richie teased, sniffling. “Why are you crying like a little bitch?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie joked back, giggling. “You’re crying too, asshole.”

“I didn’t say I _wasn’t_ a little bitch, I’m just pointing out that you’re one too.”

Eddie laughed, before sobering up and saying, “I’m sorry, Chee. Seriously, I really am.”

“Sorry for what?” Richie asked, still confused.

“Neglecting you,” Eddie clarified, sadness in his eyes. “I wasn’t showing you any love _at all_ and I feel _terrible.”_

“You weren’t neglecting me. My _parents_ neglected me and you didn’t act anything like them.”

“Well your parents are an extreme case. Just because I wasn’t doing exactly what they did, doesn’t mean I wasn’t neglecting you. I’m sorry for being a coward. I’m here now and I’m going to show you how much I love you.”

Eddie Kaspbrak a _coward?_ That was a statement that made _no sense_ to Richie. Eddie was one of the bravest people Richie knew. 

“You’re not a coward.” Richie said, still dumbfounded.

“Um… have you _seen_ me?” Eddie asked with a small laugh.

“Um… didn’t you _also_ fight a demon, alien clown from space? _Twice?”_

“It almost _killed me_ Richie. I’m the _only one_ that didn’t make it out unscathed.”

“Yeah, but the fact that you waded around in greywater and even _attempted_ to fight the clown proves that you’re braver than most people. Do you remember what I told you before we entered it’s lair?”

Eddie paused to think. Then with a smile, asked, “‘You’re braver than you think’?” 

Richie nodded, then winced with gritted teeth.

“Shit,” Eddie murmured. “Forgot you were sick for a minute. I’ll go get you some aspirin for your head. Does your throat hurt?”

“Yeah,” Richie answered, not wanting to nod again.

“Okay, I’ll also get you a lozenge to suck on.”

Richie opened his mouth but Eddie didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“Ugh, _fine,”_ Eddie groaned in exasperation. “A ‘cough drop.’ Whatever the fuck you want to call it. Do you have something in case the nausea gets worse?”

Richie pointed to the wastebasket on the floor.

“Okay, we should probably get you into a bath soon. No offense, but you’re sweaty and gross. You’ll probably feel better if you’re clean and in clothes that aren’t drenched in seat.”

Richie gave him a thumbs-up before Eddie left to go get everything.

***

Eddie brought Richie the aspirin and a lozenge (or a cough drop. Who the fuck cares?)

Eddie filled the bathtub, making sure the water was steamy in the hopes that some of Richie’s congestion could be broken up. Eddie found a strawberries and cream bath bomb in the bathroom cabinet, dropping it into the water so it could begin to dissolve. 

Eddie heard a retching sound coming from the bedroom and he flinched. The thought of somebody vomiting anywhere near him disgusted him but, when he realized Richie needed him, he went straight to the bedroom without a second thought.

He entered to find Richie with his face in the wastebasket, shuddering and wincing. At seeing some vomit on Richie’s chin, Eddie grabbed a tissue from the box on the dresser and approached him.

“Look up at me.” Eddie said softly.

Richie did as he was told, sitting the wastebasket on the floor before looking at Eddie. Eddie put his free hand on the back of Richie’s neck before gently wiping the vomit off of his face with the tissue. Richie looked at Eddie in awe as he cleaned his face and dropped the tissue into the wastebasket. 

“Come on,” Eddie coaxed, offering his hands to Richie. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Richie grabbed Eddie’s hands for support and Eddie led him to the bathroom. Eddie helped him sit on the closed toilet lid and started to help him undress. After a moment of hesitation, Richie lifted his arms so Eddie could remove his sweat-soaked t-shirt. After removing Richie’s socks, jeans, and boxers Eddie took a moment to admire Richie’s body.

“W-why are you staring at me?” Richie asked, nervously laughing. 

“Um...how can I _not_ stare at you?” Eddie retorted with a sentimental smile. “You’re fucking _hot.”_

Richie crossed his arms in discomfort, trying to shield his body from Eddie’s eyes.

Before the two of them had sex for the first time together, about a year ago, they both talked about their insecurities when it came to their bodies. Eddie was worried about the newly acquired patch of scar tissue marring his chest. Richie, of course, assured him that this was the last thing he cared about.

Richie admitted that, after spending his teenage years being thin and lanky, he _hated_ the way his body looked now. He claimed that he weighed too much and that his body was “incredibly disgusting.” This baffled Eddie to no end. Eddie confessed that he remembered looking at Richie the first week they were living together and desperately wanting to take off his hideous hawaiian dad shirt so he could see what his body looked like.

When Eddie finally took his shirt off, Richie literally cried and called him gorgeous. When Richie finally mustered the confidence to remove his own shirt, Eddie stared at him as his own face burned hotter than magma. 

Now, Eddie knelt in front of Richie and forced his arms open. Then, deciding to take a page out of Richie’s book, started peppering delicate kisses all over Richie’s stomach.

Richie went from bashful to content in a matter of seconds. Richie looked down at Eddie with adoration in his eyes and giggled. Eddie grinned and surprised them both by picking Richie up bridal-style. Eddie gently sat Richie down in the tub and Richie stared at him, mouth agape.

“Eds...what the _fuck?”_ Richie laughed. “When the fuck did you get so strong?”

“I go to the gym after work most days,” Eddie replied. “You know this.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you made so much progress. You were able to lift _me_ and I’m _not_ skinny.”

“I lifted you for, like, five seconds. It wasn’t that hard.”

“That’s what she said.” Richie blurted.

Eddie glared and wanted to gently hit Richie’s cheek in mock annoyance, but decided against it when he remembered how badly his own head ached when _he_ was sick. So Eddie just rolled his eyes fondly before seating himself on the edge of the tub. He grabbed the shampoo and uncapped the bottle.

“You’re not going to leave?” Richie asked.

“No…? Do you want me to?” 

“No, I just figured you would.”

“Chee, I’m not going anywhere unless you want to be alone. I’m going to stay with you the entire time you’re sick. Okay?”

“Well, you have to go to work in the morning.”

“No I don’t. I called off while I did the dishes.”

“Shit,” Richie muttered. _“I_ was supposed to do those today. I’m sorry, Eds.”

“Didn’t you say you threw up soon after I left? You can’t do dishes when you’re sick.” 

“Yeah, I only worked on my routine for ten minutes until I threw up in the office.”

Eddie hesitated before asking, “Like, on the floor?”

“Yeah,” Richie confessed. “I cleaned it up, though. I didn’t halfass it either, I cleaned it up like you would have.”

“So you threw up, then cleaned it up _yourself?”_

“Yeah...Then I locked the door, stumbled into bed, and slept until you texted me.”

“Chee,” Eddie sighed. “Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve left work sooner so I could’ve come home and taken care of you.”

“I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“You wouldn’t have bothered me. Why did you think you would’ve?”

Richie shrugged. “Probably because I bothered mom that one time.”

“What happened?” Eddie asked. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay. I won’t make you.”

Richie took a breath. “I got sick when I was a senior in high school one time. I threw up in calculus and the nurse took my temperature before calling my mom. She came to pick me up and chewed me out the entire car ride home. She basically called me a burden and a nuisance. She told me that she was busy at work and had a lot of stuff to do. Then she dropped me off at home before telling me to not bother her again and driving off.”

Eddie took a deep breath in an attempt to diminish the unadulterated rage boiling his blood. He fucking _hated_ Richie Tozier’s parents with a vengeance. He always wondered how two terrible people could raise (if you could even call their “parenting” raising) this amazing, compassionate man. 

Eddie sat the shampoo bottle down before hugging Richie again, not minding the fact that his shirt got slightly wet.

“Chee,” Eddie said softly. “You are not a burden _or_ a nuisance. You are an _absolute blessing_ and I am _beyond_ grateful that you’re the man I fell in love with. Don’t ever think for a _second_ that you’re bothering me. I don’t think you could even if you tried. I love you with everything I have. I always have and I always will.”

When Eddie pulled away, Richie was grinning from ear to ear.

“You know I feel the same way about you, right?” Richie asked.

“Yeah,” Eddie said happily. “I know.”

Eddie picked up the shampoo bottle and added, “Also, there’s one part of your story I don’t believe.”

“What part?” Richie asked.

Eddie paused for dramatic effect before saying, “There’s _no way_ you took calculus in high school. You’re lazy, as well as an idiot. _If_ you were even smart enough to be enrolled into that class, you wouldn’t have done any of the work.”

“You’re right,” Richie laughed. “I took remedial math. You’re such a fucking nerd, you probably took calculus.”

“Nah, I only made it to precalc.”

“What a disappointment. They should revoke your nerd card.”

“Who’s ‘they?’”

“I don’t know, whoever the fuck’s in charge of that stuff.”

“That joke was, like, _way_ less funny than all the jokes you usually make.”

“My apologies, Edward. You see, my jokes aren’t that funny at the moment because it’s hard to be youself when you’re fucking sick.”

Eddie, instead of responding, just squeezed a sufficient amount of shampoo into his hand.

“Dude, the fuck?” Richie asked. “That’s, like, ten times the amount I usually use.”

Eddie assessed the amount in his hand before asking, “How much _do_ you usually use?

Richie hesitated before replying, “How big of a fit would you throw if I told you I used, like, a drop the size of a dime?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me…”

“I didn’t even use shampoo before you moved in.”

Eddie blinked. “Like, _ever?”_

“Nope.”

“But there was shampoo in your shower when I moved in.”

There was a pause before Richie murmured, “I bought that bottle, like, an hour before you got here…”

Eddie stared at him blankly.

“I just assumed the water did a good enough job on its own.”

Eddie sighed in frustration before muttering, “Shut the fuck up and let me wash your fucking hair, you fucking imbecile.”

Richie gave Eddie a sentimental smile as he spread the shampoo onto both palms. Eddie carefully massaged the shampoo into Richie’s hair. Richie let out a relaxed groan and his eyes fluttered shut as he relaxed further into the bathtub. 

Since Richie seemed to enjoy it so much, Eddie leisurely shampooed Richie’s hair. His nails must’ve skimmed Richie’s scalp a million times over before he finally rinsed everything out.

“Want me to condition it too?” Eddie asked, already grabbing the bottle.

“If you can make it feel as good as what you were doing a second ago, then _yes.”_ Richie murmured.

“Yeah, I can definitely do that.” Eddie said, squeezing the conditioner into his palm.

Eddie took just as long to condition Richie’s hair, trying to put all of his love and affection into every gentle caress. Based on Richie’s happy noises and calm breathing, Eddie must’ve done a good job.

While they waited for the conditioner to set, Eddie grabbed a washcloth and some shower gel. He wet the washcloth, added some gel, and lathered it. Eddie spent the next several minutes cleaning Richie’s body, taking way longer than he had to.

After rinsing Richie’s hair and body, Eddie drained the tub. He helped Richie out before wrapping him in a towel and helping him sit on the closet toilet lid.

“What do you want to wear? Or does it not matter?” Eddie asked.

Richie just shrugged in response, seeming unusually tranquil.

“Alright, I’ll just grab whatever.” Eddie said, before quietly padding out of the bathroom.

***

Richie waited for Eddie to return, feeling euphoric. 

Eddie, the same person who did everything briskly and vigorously _especially_ when it came to germs, cleaned Richie in the most gradual and lethargic way he possibly could have. Every caress, every stroke was so soft and gentle that he could feel Eddie’s love warming his chilly skin. 

Eddie returned with a t-shirt, sweatpants, and a bottle of lotion. He dried Richie off more thoroughly and started squeezing lotion onto his hand from the bottle. Richie raised an inquisitive eyebrow at that.

“Your skin’s drier than the Sahara fucking desert.” Eddie muttered, starting to smooth the lotion onto Richie’s body.

Richie thought his capacity for pleasure was already exceeded. Boy, was he wrong…

Eddie smoothed the lotion as lazily as he did everything else. It seemed as if he had nothing better to do. Maybe he didn’t. He massaged his muscles slightly as he did this, a new skill he seemed to have acquired in the past year. Richie let his eyes close and he let out deep, easy breaths.

When Eddie was done lotioning Richie, he helped him get his comfy clothes on. He actually seemed...disappointed to do it. Like, he seemed like he would be content with Richie being unclothed. Richie still wasn’t used to Eddie _liking_ how his body looked and he didn't think he ever would.

Once Richie’s clothes were on, Eddie grabbed Richie’s brush from the bathroom cabinet and started brushing the tangles out of his dark curls. 

Richie expected Eddie to brush his hair like Richie did. Richie always brushed his own hair violently and harshly. He didn’t care if it hurt, he just wanted the tangles out. This was how his mother brushed his hair when he was a child, so he never saw a reason to do it differently than she did.

He also expected Eddie to brush his hair as swiftly and efficiently as he brushed his own. Wanting to get it done in a timely manner and not caring if he was a little rough.

When Eddie brushed Richie’s hair, he did it slowly and delicately as if Richie’s hair was something important that needed to be handled carefully. Richie never knew until this moment that having your hair brushed could actually feel pleasant. 

Richie closed his eyes again and actually moaned. He normally would’ve been embarrassed to make that noise, but he didn’t care right now. He just wanted to bask in and appreciate how nice this felt. Richie arched his back slightly and pressed upward into the brush’s movements. 

When Eddie was finished, one blissful eternity later, Richie opened his eyes to see the shorter man smiling at him. It was a fond smile with a hint of amusement, thankfully no mockery was present in his expression.

“I didn’t expect you to have that reaction.” Eddie said, putting the brush back in its place.

“Well, that’s the first enjoyable hair brushing experience I’ve ever had,”

Eddie’s brow furrowed. “Like, _ever?”_

Richie nodded.

“Hmmmm…” Eddie twisted his mouth in thought. “I’ll have to do it again sometime, then. Get a few more good experiences in there.”

Richie smiled. 

Eddie helped Richie to the bedroom and helped him onto the bed. Richie didn’t realize there were different sheets on the bed until he lay down.

“Eds, why did you change the sheets?” Richie asked.

“Besides the fact that they were covered in sweat,” Eddie explained. “Dirty sheets are a breeding ground for bacteria. For you to get better, we need to minimize that as much as possible. Also sleeping on clean sheets feels better than sleeping on dirty ones.”

“Shit,” Richie muttered. “I probably should have done that when _you_ were sick.”

“Sit up for a moment and look at me, love.”

Richie sat up in bed and Eddie placed his hands gently on his shoulders.

“You did an _amazing_ job of taking care of me. I was comfy, felt loved, and I recovered in record time. You did everything _perfectly,_ so don’t you dare regret a damn thing. All I care about right now is taking care of you as well as you took care of me. So… how are you feeling right now? Are you hot? Cold?”

Richie hesitated before responding, “I feel better now than I have all day. I’m kinda cold, though.”

Eddie nodded, grabbing a fluffy blanket before draping it over Richie. 

“Do you want to try to eat something again?” Eddie asked.

Richie shook his head and responded, “I think I’m just gonna sleep.”

“Want me to join you?” 

Richie paused for thought before nodding.

Eddie smiled. “Okay. Let me go change and I’ll be right back.”

Eddie grabbed a hoodie and sweatpants before leaving.

Richie couldn’t help but feel amazed. Eddie hasn’t flinched, cringed, gagged, or sprayed himself with disinfectant this entire time. The fact that Eddie’s fear of germs isn’t overriding his love for Richie was astounding. 

Just then, Richie heard a spraying noise and smiled fondly. So, scratch that last part but everything else was true.

Eddie came back, now dressed for sleep and smelling like citrus. He sat the disinfectant spray on the nightstand and he looked sheepish.

“If I start spraying myself in the middle of the night, just ignore me and try to go back to sleep.” Eddie muttered before sliding in bed next to Richie.

“You smell good.” Richie said with a smile.

“Listen asshole-”

“Eds, I wasn’t being sarcastic. You smell like oranges and citrusy shit. It’s...really nice.”

Eddie’s previously frustrated expression softened. 

“Oh...well, um, I’m glad you like it…” Eddie cleared his throat. “So what cuddling position do you want to do?”

“I wanna see you.”

“Alright. Cuddle up, buttercup.” 

Eddie lay on his side, facing Richie, and opened his arms. Richie wrapped his arms and legs around Eddie, letting out a serene breath as Eddie started calmly running his fingers through Richie’s dark curls. Richie was glad Eddie decided to brush his hair. Eddie’s fingers didn’t catch any knots and his nails ran soothingly across Richie’s scalp.

Richie buried his face into Eddie’s neck, inhaling the smell of citrus through his newly cleared airways. Eddie wrapped his own legs around Richie, drawing him impossibly closer. 

“I wish I were as good a singer as you,” Eddie murmured. “It’d probably help you fall asleep faster.”

“You could just talk to me.”

“Okay. Talk about what exactly?”

“I don’t know, anything. You could talk about statistics for all I care.”

“Well, every year 5% to 20% of the U.S population will get the flu. An average of about 20,000 Americans are hospitalized each year due to complications from the illness. Cases of the flu begin to increase in October. Flu activity peaks between December and February…”

Eddie went on about flu statistics and Richie smiled, feeling like the luckiest man on the planet that _this_ was his boyfriend. His speaking voice was clear and calming, it slowly lulled Richie into a deep, peaceful sleep. 

***

When Richie was finally asleep, Eddie stopped rattling about flu statistics (he didn’t mention the flu death rates for obvious reasons). Before he himself fell asleep, he took a minute to admire the sleeping man in his arms. 

Richie looked way better after taking a bath. His dark, curly hair was soft beneath Eddie’s fingers. His skin was flushed pink rather than red. He was breathing serenely through his nose (even though his breathing was still a little wheezy, the fact that he was no longer confined to breathing out of his mouth was a good sign). Richie looked gorgeous. Hell, he still looked gorgeous even when the sickness was obstructing his beauty.

When Eddie was finally able to pry his eyes off of Richie, he also drifted off to sleep.

***

Richie woke up in the middle of the night, still wrapped up in Eddie’s arms. Richie snuggled closer to Eddie, wanting to go back to sleep, when he heard a noise downstairs. This wasn’t just an arbitrary noise you hear at night that convinces you a murder is in your house, this sounded like someone walking towards the staircase.

“Eddie,” Richie whispered, nudging him. “Wake up.”

Eddie, being a light sleeper, opened his eyes immediately.

“Hey, Chee. What’s wrong? Are any of your symptoms worse?”

“No, it’s not that. I think someone’s in our house.”

They both stopped speaking momentarily. The noise was now of someone walking up the stairs. Eddie’s jaw dropped.

“Do we even have a weapon in here?” Richie asked.

Eddie shook his head. “Where’s your pocket knife?”

“In my coat downstairs.”

“Fuck.”

The doorknob was starting to turn. Eddie jumped out of bed and unplugged the lamp on the nightstand from the wall. Richie made a move to get up.

“No, stay put.” Eddie said. “You’re already weak as it is. I don’t want your condition to get any worse.”

Richie, knowing he couldn't fight Eddie on this, stayed in the bed. Eddie wrapped the chord around the lamp’s base and held it up. The door swung open and, rather than seeing a murderer or thief, they saw Pennywise the Dancing clown.

Richie felt his heart pick up the pace like it never had before and Eddie let out an audible gasp. They both stared at the clown in silence as it slowly made its way towards Eddie and they both noticed that it had Richie’s pocket knife. Eddie had a deer in the headlights look on his face, until he finally took a deep breath and brandished the lamp.

“Get the fuck out of our house you miserable creature.” Eddie growled. “We already defeated you twice already. Who’s to say we couldn’t do it again? I am armed and not afraid of you, you piece of shit! You’re _nothing_ to me you sloppy bitch. Do you hear me? _Nothing!”_

Pennywise finally stopped in front of Eddie. Pennywise wore that horrible smile and Eddie sneered. 

“I’m here to finish what I started.” Pennywise snarled, his expression suddenly venomous.

“Not if _I_ have anything to say about it.” Eddie snapped.

Eddie stepped forward to bash Pennywise’s skull in with the lamp but, before he could, Pennywise used the knife to slice Eddie in the side of the neck. Blood gushed from the gash like a fountain and the life drained from Eddie’s eyes. Eddie dropped the lamp and fell to the ground limply, a severed artery being his downfall.

Richie, paralysied with fear and devastation, stayed frozen where he was.

Pennywise snapped his head to the side to look at Richie, that ugly smile now returning full force.

“Hiya, Richie. I’ve really missed you this past year. Look what you did to pooooor Eddie.”

Richie tried to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“He was just fine living with his beautiful wife at his home in New York. At least then, he would’ve been alive. You couldn’t just keep it to yourself. You just _had_ to let him in on your dirty little secret. He divorced his loving wife, moved here with you, and then realized he was happier before. Now look at him. Dead. All because you couldn't keep your Trashmouth shut.”

“You’re wrong.” was all Richie could get out.

“Am I? Well, why don’t we just ask him?”

Pennywise morphed into Eddie, wearing the same outfit and even sporting the same injury as the corpse on the ground. His mouth formed a scowl, one that Richie had seen multiple times.

“Wow...thanks a lot, _asshole._ Why the _fuck_ did you even confess your feelings for me in the first place? I was just fine living with Myra. She made sure I took my medicine and loved me. At least I would’ve been _alive_ if I’d stayed with her. This is all your fault, you faggot. Why didn’t you keep that shit to yourself?”

Richie, with tears now blurring his vision and nausea churning his stomach, sprung from the bed and bolted to the bathroom. 

***

Eddie awoke to an empty bed and the sound of projectile vomiting coming from the bathroom. Eddie sprung out of bed and, forgetting about the disinfectant on the nightstand, went to the bathroom.

When he entered he saw Richie gripping the sides of the toilet and heaving into the bowl. When he finished, he was hyperventilating and sobbing. When Eddie realized the retching wasn’t from sickness this time, he knew he had to be careful.

Eddie slowly kneeled beside Richie, making sure he wasn’t too close. Eddie desperately wanted to reach out and touch Richie but, since it didn’t end well the last time he tried that, he refrained. 

Eddie took a breath and used his softest, most calming speaking voice. “Richie, look at me.”

Richie looked at Eddie with a shocked and bewildered expression, as if he were genuinely surprised that Eddie was here. 

“Take deep breaths, you’re okay. You’re not in any danger. Everything’s okay. Can I touch you?”

Richie, still taking uneven breaths, shook his head.

Eddie gave him a reassuring smile. “Alright, that’s okay. Just tell me what you need me to do. Do you need a pen and paper to write it down?”

Richie nodded.

“Okay, I’m going to stand up and go get it. I’ll be back very soon. Just focus on your breathing.”

Eddie slowly stood and left the bathroom. He moved faster when he was out of Richie’s line of sight, snatching a pad of paper and a pen from the desk in their office. Eddie slowed down when he neared the bathroom door.

“I’m back and I’m coming inside.” Eddie announced.

After pausing for a few beats, Eddie slowly entered the bathroom and said, “I’m going to sit on my knees next to you again,” before doing exactly that.

Eddie doesn’t normally tell Richie exactly what he’s going to do before he does it. When Richie gets like this, he knows surprises are detrimental to his psychological well being so Eddie likes to make sure he’s as predictable as possible.

“Here’s the notepad and pen.” Eddie says, holding the items out to Richie.

Richie took them and started scribbling words down. His breathing had calmed down some, but it definitely wasn’t ideal yet. When he finished writing, he passed the pad back to Eddie.

It took a moment for Eddie to decipher the notes, Richie’s handwriting looked like chicken-scratch when he was well, and he realized it said, “Just talk to me.”

“Okay, I can do that. Does it matter what I talk about?”

Richie took back the paper and before scrawling, “Talk about anything. Let me know that it’s you. Let me know you’re alive.”

_Oh no._

Usually, when Richie had a nightmare it was about his parents, Henry Bowers, or Pennywise. After all of this time he never dreamt about Eddie dying, at least not that Eddie was aware of. He’s never had a nightmare so bad that it warped his perception of reality this much. When Eddie remembered that Richie had a fever, it made more sense for such an intense dream to happen.

“Sure thing,” Eddie said, keeping the smile on his face. “Just keep focusing on your breathing. I’m going to take my shirt off, if that’s okay with you. If this makes it worse for you, just let me know and I’ll put it back on _immediately._ I’m not entirely sure if this’ll evoke a positive response from you.”

Eddie waited for a clear nod from Richie before taking his hoodie off. Even though he heated being topless in front of anyone, he knew Richie needed to see something, an explicit reminder that he was alive and well.

Eddie gestured to the scar. “See? This is proof that I’m alive. You got me out of its lair and took me to the hospital. I survived and I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon.”

Richie just stared, still breathing heavily. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to get any worse. He didn’t make a move to write anything on the notepad and he didn’t seem like he was going to speak either.

Eddie had no clue what to do next. Maybe Richie needed to do more than just see the scar. Maybe something tangible as well as visual would help.

“Do you want to touch it?” Eddie asked.

Richie nodded weakly and Eddie let him place the palm of his hand to the scar.

“I don’t know what you dreamed about,” Eddie said softly. “but whatever it was, it wasn’t real. Maybe it seemed like it was but it wasn’t. Fever dreams can be much more terrifying than regular nightmares. What’s happening right now is real. I’m real and I’m alive. I’m going to be alive until, hopefully, sometime in the distant future. The point I’m trying to make is, I’m not going to be killed by a clown. I’m most likely going to die from old age. Honestly, you’ll probably die before I do if you keep eating that sorry excuse for a diet. Do you think ramen noodles and dinosaur chicken nuggets are viable foods for living past forty-five? Newsflash, simpleton, they’re not.”

Richie’s breathing finally calmed down and he stared at Eddie blankly.

“Shit,” Eddie murmured. “Sorry, Chee. I probably shouldn’t insult you while you’re panicking. I guess I do it so often that I don’t realize I’m doing it until I’ve already finished speaking. Anyway, what’s happening right now is real and-”

Richie pulled Eddie into a tight embrace, nuzzling his face into Eddie’s neck.

“Thank God, you’re alive.” Richie sobbed.

“Of course I’m alive, sweetie.” Eddie said, not yet wrapping his arms around Richie.

Since Richie explicitly stated not to touch him earlier, Eddie didn’t want to touch him yet. Eddie just whispered soothing words into Richie’s ear as Richie held onto him for dear life. After the room being silent save for Richie’s crying, Richie finally broke it.

“So, are you gonna hug me now or what?” Richie asked with a quiet laugh.

“I will if you want me to,” Eddie said. “You told me not to earlier.”

“Obviously I want you to now. It’s kind of awkward to hug someone who’s not doing it back.”

Eddie wrapped his arms around Richie. “Well, _I_ respect other people’s boundaries and don’t touch someone who doesn’t want to be touched. Unlike _some_ people.”

Richie laughed. “Fuck you. I just wanted to fix your broken arm.”

“You’re not capable of fixing anything. Remember that one time you broke Mrs. Denbrough’s flower vase, and instead of just telling her you broke it like a normal person would, you used _Elmer’s school glue_ to glue the pieces back together?”

“It was the only glue I had at the time, asshole. I was, like, ten or something.”

“That’s not the point. The point is, you glued the pieces back together with _washable_ glue. The fucking vase fell back apart when she poured water in it. So, you’re not capable of fixing _shit._ You didn’t even set my damn arm correctly. The doctors had to push it back into the correct place afterwards. So, all you did was cause me more pain.”

“Listen, I tried my best.” 

Eddie giggled.

“Also if I’m going to die before you, then I can tell you what kind of coffin I want to be buried in?”

“Okay, lay it on me.”

“I want a white coffin covered in pink glitter.”

“Um...no. I’m _not_ burying you in a coffin that’s more gay than you are.”

Richie laughed.

When Richie was done hugging, he and Eddie let go of each other. Richie looked exhausted but he was smiling. Richie leaned forward and kissed Eddie’s scar, eliciting a lighthearted laugh from the shorter man.

“How are you feeling?” Eddie asked.

“Drained of any and all energy that I previously had.”

“Do you think you can walk back to the bed?”

“I doubt it, but I can try.”

Eddie shook his head. “If you don’t think you can, I’d rather not risk it. I can carry you.”

“Just don’t hurt yourself. I don’t want you to accidentally throw your back out, grandpa.” 

“Fuck you.”

Eddie stood up and winced, placing a hand on his lower back. Richie cackled.

“Shut up, asshole. Do you think you can get up and sit on the toilet? It’ll probably be easier for me to pick you up if you do.”

Richie nodded and slowly did what Eddie asked him to.

“Fuck, my knees.” Richie mumbled once he was seated.

Eddie scoffed. “And you called _me_ ‘grandpa?’ You hypocritical, decrepit fuck.”

Richie laughed and Eddie begrudgingly smiled. Eddie picked Richie up and carried him to their bed. They arranged themselves into the came cuddling position they were in before and Eddie made sure they were both sufficiently covered in the blanket.

“Shit, forgot my hoodie.”

“Do you wanna go get it?”

Eddie shook his head. “I’m good. I hope you like what you see.”

Richie smiled fondly and pressed a chaste kiss to Eddie’s scar.

Richie raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I, hot stuff?”

Eddie felt his face heat up and smiled.

“I’m kind of scared to go back to sleep.” Richie admitted.

“Understandable. You usually don’t have two nightmares in one night, so you should be fine.”

“I know, but still.”

“Just try your best to relax and I’ll help you fall asleep again.”

“I have a question first.”

Eddie looked at Richie inquisitively.

“You’re happy living with me, right?”

Bewildered, Eddie said, “Yeah, of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, it’s just… In the dream I had, Pennywise turned into you and tried to convince me you were happier living with Mya-”

Before Eddie could stop himself, he snorted loudly. Richie looked at him in confusion.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said after he was done. “I’m not laughing about what dream Pennywise did. I’m just laughing about how _ridiculous_ that is. I was _miserable_ with Myra. I didn’t realize it before, because I forgot about you. When I came back to Derry and saw you at the reunion, I realized how _awful_ my marriage was. I guess when I forgot about you, I forgot what true love felt like. So, I didn’t realize Myra and I didn’t have it. When I saw you again, I remembered what it felt like. Then, anything I had with Myra seemed dull and lifeless by comparison. Honestly, I would say I’m happier now than I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

“Really?” Richie asked.

“Yeah. When I was a child I was bullied frequently and my mom did some messed up shit. High School fucking sucked. College was okay, but it was kind of boring. Then I got married to Myra, my _worst_ decision to date. Now, I’m living here with you. So, this is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Richie smiled at Eddie, his eyes seemed to sparkle.

“What else were you going to say?” Eddie asked.

“You pretty much answered every question I was going to ask you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I think I’m ready to go to sleep now.”

“Okay, I’ve got you.”

Eddie started idly playing with Richie’s hair and started humming. 

“Wait a fucking second,” Richie said with narrowed eyes. “I thought you said you weren’t good at singing.”

_Shit._

Eddie stopped his movements. “I said I wasn’t as good as you. I didn’t say I was bad.”

“Well if your humming is any indication, you’re way better than me.”

Eddie fell silent, suddenly tense.

“Do you not _like_ singing?” Richie asked.

“No, not really.”

“Why not?”

Eddie exhaled.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll tell you. How much did I tell you about high school?”

“Not much. All I remember is you moving away from Derry after eighth grade. I don’t think you actually told me anything about it.”

“Well, when I was in high school, I really wanted to play a sport. Track is the one I really wanted to do. Of course, my mom wasn’t okay with that. I thought she was just going to make me drop the subject entirely, which I would’ve preferred. I guess when she sensed my interest in doing an extracurricular, she did research and found out that my school had an extensive performing arts department. 

“Essentially, she manipulated me into doing choir, theatre, concert band… anything that wouldn’t be hard on my ‘asthma.’ It would’ve been fun, if I made the personal choice to do it but I didn’t. I was in every school musical and play. Being an openly gay kid in the performing arts makes you a perfect target for verbal and physical harrassment. So, I never sing now. I used to like it but I’ve heated it since I was fourteen.”

Richie looked absolutely heartbroken by the time Eddie finished speaking.

“No, don’t look at me like that. The last thing I want is a pity party.”

“I’m not pitying you.” Richie said. “I’m just...sad. I honestly can’t imagine hating singing, especially with a voice like yours.”

“Yours is better.”

“It’s not a competition, babe.”

“You’re right...sorry. I’m just used to it being. My high school career was full of auditions and performances. I never saw singing as anything other than a competition.”

“Well, it doesn’t _have_ to be, not anymore anyway. I’m good at singing, according to you at least. You’re good at it too. Also if you don’t like singing, you don’t have to do it. I’m not going to make you and I’m not going to guilt trip you into doing it. If you sing, I want it to because _you_ want to.”

A few tears fell from Eddie’s eyes. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

Richie used his thumbs to wipe the tears away and he smiled lovingly at Eddie. When Eddie calmed down, he started brushing his fingers through Richie’s hair again. Richie curled closer to Eddie, if that was even possible, and rested his face on Eddie’s chest.

Eddie laughed. “I know I just went on a rant about how much I hate singing but I kind of want to now.”

“Then do it, Edna Lasagna.”

Eddie laughed again. “Good to see you’re back to using terrible nicknames. Same thing goes as when you sang for me. I get to pick the song and if you tease me, I stop.”

“Okay. Unlike you, I’m giving you _explicit_ permission to Rickroll me.”

“No.”

“Darn. Well I’m all ears, spaghetti.”

Richie looked at Eddie with eager eyes.

“Did I look this excited when _you_ agreed to sing to me?”

“If I look super excited, than yes. You did.”

Eddie cleared his throat, took a breath, and started to sing one of his favorite songs from Les Misérables (pronounced lay miz-re- lahb). Richie looked entranced by Eddie’s voice. As Eddie ran his fingers through Richie’s hair and the song neared its end, Richie fell asleep.

Eddie can’t believe he just _sang_ without anyone forcing him to. This was the first time he’s had fun singing in twenty five years. Feeling satisfied with this, Eddie let sleep pull him under too.

***

Richie woke up to see Eddie still had all of his limbs wrapped around him, like a koala. Somehow, during sleep, Eddie had managed to climb on top of Richie and Eddie’s pillow was on the floor. Eddie’s hair was sticking up at weird angles and there was some dried drool extending from the corner of his mouth. 

Richie carefully wiped the drool off of Eddie’s face and wrapped his arms around him. Eddie stirred a little and yawned. 

“If you could not exhale your nasty morning breath into my face, that’d be great.” Richie teased.

Eddie opened his eyes and sleepily blinked. “Good morning, my love.”

Richie felt a sharp pang of fondness in his heart. “Morning, cutie.”

Eddie grinned at Richie. If Richie’s love for this man grew any stronger, his heart would probably burst inside his chest.

“How are you feeling?” Eddie asked.

“My nausea is mostly gone. Nothing else has really changed, though.”

“Still have a headache?”

“A little bit.”

Eddie let go of Richie and moved to get the aspirin. Richie kept his own arms wrapped snugly around Eddie and didn’t let him get up.

“Chee, I have to get your medicine.”

“Can we please just say like this? At least for a little longer?”

Eddie smiled and wrapped his limbs back around Richie. “Sure thing. Just let me know when you want to get up.”

Richie nodded, mirroring Eddie’s expression. “So, I’m definitely not complaining, but how the fuck did you end up on top of me? Did you do it on purpose or did it just kind of happen?”

Eddie’s brow slightly furrowed. “You mean you didn’t pull me on top of you?”

“No, I woke up to see you like this.”

“Huh...Well I guess I did it in my sleep, then.”

“I guess so. Oh! I have a question, before I forget.”

Eddie looked at Richie inquisitively.

“What was that song you were singing last night?”

“It was from a musical.”

“Yeah, I figured. What’s it called?”

“The song or the musical?”

“Both.”

“The song was ‘Bring Him Home’ from the musical Les Misérables. I’m pretty sure I have it on DVD somewhere.”

“Can we watch it later?”

Edde’s eyes widened. “You want to watch a _musical?”_

“Yeah. Why do you look so surprised?”

“When we were kids, I tried to get you to listen to showtunes. You always refused saying they were ‘cringey,’ ‘dumb,’ and ‘for nerds.’” 

“Yeah, that _was_ my opinion. When I was an angsty teen. Things have changed. I’ve wanted to listen to a musical for a while now, but there are too many options. I didn’t know which one to start with, so I never ended up listening to any.”

“Chee, if you want recommendations, I’ve definitely got you covered.”

“Cool. So, can we watch the movie?”

“Hell yeah! I never said ‘no,’ I was just shocked, musicals don’t really seem like your thing. I hope I’m wrong.”

“Wow, this is the first time you don’t want to be right.”

“Who _doesn’t_ want to be right?”

“Me.”

“I don’t think you want to be wrong. In your case, you’re wrong so often that you’re just used to it. You don’t necessarily want to be right because you’ve never felt the satisfaction. You can’t want what you’ve never experienced.”

Richie laughed. “Damn… You’re practically roasting me alive _this_ early?”

“It’s ten AM.”

“Well, we just woke up. That’s what I meant.”

Eddie hummed, sinking his fingers into Richie’s curls, eliciting a groan from the taller man.

“Your hair is tangly. You should probably brush it.” Eddie suggested.

Richie hesitated, but finally asked, “Can you brush it for me?”

Eddie nodded.

Just then Richie’s stomach growled and he felt his face heat up.

Deciding to have mercy on Richie’s sick ass, Eddie smiled kindly. “I’ll go get you something to eat. Just chill here for a minute and I’ll be right back.”

“You know I can walk to the dining room, right?”

“Actually, there’s a very specific reason that I want you to stay here.”

“What’s the reason?”

“I have a surprise for you in the living room. It’s kind of hard to hide.”

“What is it?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise dipshit.”

Richie laughed. “Okay, I’ll stay here. How long do I have to wait?”

“I’ll show you when you’re done eating and before we watch the movie.”

Richie nodded and Eddie gave him medicine. He slipped another hoodie on, much to Richie’s dismay, before leaving. He returned shortly after with two slices of toast and water. Eddie brought a bowl of cereal for himself and they ate on the bed together, which Eddie would have thrown a _fit_ over under ordinary conditions.

When they were done eating, Eddie used a shirt to blindfold Richie.

“Eds, I’m not gonna lie. This is kind of kinky.”

“Beep beep, asshole.” Eddie grumbled, making sure Richie couldn’t see anything.

Eddie led Richie downstairs and into the living room. When they finally stopped, Eddie removed the makeshift blindfold.

Then Richie saw, in the middle of the living room, there was a hammock hanging from carabiners in the walls where they were drilled in. The fabric was blue with green polka dots and there were some pillows and blankets sitting on it.

At seeing Richie’s shocked reaction, Eddie seemed anxious. “Please don’t tell me you hate it.”

Richie laughed. “Why the fuck would I hate it? This is so cool! I’m just confused as to when you did this.”

Eddie’s shoulders relaxed. “I did it while you were asleep the first time.”

“How did it not wake me up? Like, you probably had to use a _drill.”_

“You’re a really heavy sleeper.”

“Apparently…”

“Well, go ahead and test it out. I’m going to go get the movie. I’ll be right back.”

Eddie left the room and Richie stared at the hammock in apprehension.

It’s not that Richie didn’t want to lie in it, he really wanted to. The last time he lied in the clubhouse hammock, he was a skinny teenager. Now, he just _wasn’t._ He was worried the force of his body weight would rip one of the metal pieces out of the wall.

Eddie came back with the DVD case in hand and studied Richie with concerned eyes.

“You good, Rich?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you not want to lie down?”

“I _do._ It’s just…”

“You’re worried about breaking something, aren’t you?”

Richie nodded, eyes cast down to the floor.

Eddie placed his hands on Richie’s shoulders. “Hey, Chee. Look at me.”

Richie reluctantly did as he was told and saw Eddie smiling tenderly at him.

“I know for a _fact_ that you will not break anything.” Eddie said. “Do you want to know why?”

“How could you _possibly_ know that?”

“Well... since I knew we would both be lying in the hammock together, and since we’re both full grown adults, I planned ahead. Each of those carabiners can hold _four thousand pounds._ So, there is _no way_ either of us will cause it to break. Okay?”

Richie let out a relieved breath. “Okay.”

Eddie went to put the movie into the DVD player and Richie, after taking a breath, lay down in the hammock. It was _extremely_ comfortable, like, _way_ more comfortable than he remembers the hammock in the clubhouse being. 

Eddie soon lay down, taking the empty space across from Richie, mirroring what they did in the clubhouse as kids. Eddie extended his hand forward and Richie grabbed onto it, his heart further swelling with the love he had for his boyfriend. A split second after, Eddie used his bare foot to knock Richie’s glasses off of his face.

Richie let out a deep sigh, putting his glasses back on. “Really?”

Eddie gently bopped Richie’s cheek with the same foot.

“Babe...knock it off.”

Eddie bopped the other cheek.

“Stop.”

Eddie used both feet to bop both sides of Richie’s face simultaneously.

“This is your last warning, motherfucker.”

Eddie did it again.

Way to quickly for someone who’s ill, Richie grabbed both of Eddie’s ankles so he had one in each large hand. He rested his thumbs on the soles of Eddie’s feet.

Eddie’s eyes enlarged when he realized what Richie was about to do. “No... _do not.”_

Grinning maniacally, Richie ran both thumbs across the soles of Eddie’s feet. Eddie shrieked with laughter and tried to push himself out of the hammock. Not realizing Richie still had a firm grip on his ankles, Eddie’s top half was hanging upside down but his legs and feet were still in the hammock. Thankfully, due to Richie still lying in the hammock, it didn’t flip over. Unfortunately, that meant Eddie was hanging upside down and most likely had blood rushing to his head.

“Do you need help up?” Richie asked, amused.

Eddie was still giggling. “If you’re done tickling my feet, then yes.”

“I’ll be done tickling your feet if you’re done hitting me in the face, jerk.”

“Okay, fine. I’m done, buzzkill. Now help me back up.”

Richie wrapped one arm around Eddie’s legs at the knees and wrapped the other around Eddie’s waist. Richie effortlessly lifted him onto the hammock to where he was lying on top of Richie, just how they woke up earlier.

“Don’t you want me to go back to where I was?” Eddie asked.

Even as he asked this he was adjusting himself to a more comfortable position and resting his chin on Richie’s chest, looking up at Richie with those brown eyes. The sun coming in through the windows reflected off of them, making them look golden. 

“Nah,” Richie decided, pulling a blanket over the two of them and wrapping his arms around Eddie. “This is fine.”

Eddie sighed in contentment and grabbed the remote to start the movie.

***

They started watching the movie (When Richie saw the movie cover he just _had_ do pronounce it as “less miserables.”) and both men seemed to enjoy it.

Eddie was singing along to the songs he knew (which was most of them) and actually had _fun_ doing it. He was also happy to watch the movie for the first time in a long time. Myra kept Eddie on as short a leash as his mother did, so she never let him watch any musical that wasn’t _The Sound of Music._

Richie commentated his thoughts as the movie played. Some highlights were when the song “Look Down” was finished, ( _“Nineteen years_ for stealing a _single_ loaf of bread? Are you _kidding_ me?!”) when the bishop prevented Jean Valjean from getting arrested, (“Awwww, that was nice.”) and when Fantine was fired from her job (“How _dare_ those heartless bitches expose Fantine and get her fired! That foreman is just a pathetic, horny motherfucker who is firing Fantine because she wouldn’t sleep with him!”) He also looked away from the movie screen to gaze lovingly at Eddie when he sang, which was the other reason Eddie kept doing it.

When Fantine died, Richie started crying pretty hard. Eddie felt for him, since he did the same thing when he saw the movie for the first time. Eddie paused the movie and grabbed a few tissues from the box he brought and started gently wiping the tears from Richie’s face.

“This is so fuckin’ sad,” Richie mumbled, starting to calm down.

“Yeah, a lot of musicals are.”

“I can see why you brought those now,” Richie laughed, as Eddie wiped the rest of the tears away.

“Rich, how sad are you right now?”

“Um… pretty sad, dude. How are _you_ not crying? Don’t you have a heart?”

Eddie gave Richie a sympathetic look. “Chee...I _really_ hate to break it to you, but we’re only a little over forty minutes into an almost three hour musical. It gets sadder.”

Richie looked appalled. “It gets _sadder?”_

Eddie nodded.

Richie groaned and buried his face into his hands. “I didn’t sign up for this shit.”

“You know the title of this in English is literally _The Miserable Ones,_ right?”

Richie blinked.

Eddie sighed. “You didn’t know the title was even in another language, did you?”

Richie just stared instead of answering, confirming Eddie’s suspicions.

“Wait,” Richie said. “What language _is_ the title in?”

“French.”

Richie stared blankly.

“Richie... _please_ don’t tell me you didn’t know this movie was sent in France until I told you just now.”

Richie was now refusing to make eye contact with Eddie.

“At the _beginning_ of the movie, the prisoners are hauling a _French_ flag out of the water. There are French flags _everywhere._ How the _fuck_ did you not know this was set in _France?”_

Richie just weakly shrugged.

“You’re an imbecile.”

“Well, to be fair, they have British accents. So…”

Eddie laughed. “Yeah, they do.” He picked up the remote. “You ready to keep going?”

Richie nodded. “I’m ready. Bring on the sadness!”

They continued watching the movie. By the end, Richie Tozier was sobbing. Even Eddie, who has seen this before, shed a few tears. They carefully wiped the tears from each other’s faces and were cuddling in the hammock after the movie was over.

“We need to listen to more musicals.” Richie said, running his fingers through Eddie’s hair.

They had switched positions to where Richie was the one on top of Eddie this time. With Richie’s extra height it was hard, but they made it work.

“Hell yes,” Eddie agreed. “I’ll _absolutely_ introduce you to more of them. I think you need some time to emotionally recuperate, though. So, that’s enough for today.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

Eddie laughed. “Okay, tomorrow works.” He started softly scratching Richie’s back from underneath his t-shirt and Richie let out a groan, relaxing further into Eddie.

“If I fall asleep, you only have yourself to blame.” Richie mumbled, his eyelids drooping.

Eddie kissed the top of Richie's head. “Then go ahead and sleep. You’re still recovering, remember? Sleep would be a good idea.”

“I forgot I was sick for a while, to be honest.”

Eddie smiled. “That’s good.”

Richie looked at Eddie with worry. “Shit. Do I need to let you up so you can spray yourself? I totally forgot about that.”

Eddie considered this for a moment. 

Just last night, he had to spray himself frequently due to the fear of getting sick again being present in his mind. Even when he was focusing on his love for Richie, he still felt germs actively crawling on his skin every time he was near his boyfriend.

Today, possibly due to the fact that Richie’s symptoms have become less noticeable, he hasn’t even _thought_ about the can of disinfectant. It’s probably still sitting on the nightstand in their bedroom. 

“No, I’m good. You can just go to sleep.” Eddie said.

“Make me.” 

Eddie knew this was a joke, but he didn’t really care.

“Okay, I will.”

Eddie then proceeded to continue his ministrations with one hand, and with the other he started scratching Richie’s neck and head. He _knew_ that this would put Richie to sleep almost instantly. Sure enough, after letting out a satisfied moan, Richie seemed to fall asleep mere seconds later.

Eddie could’ve stopped what he was doing and Richie would probably still be asleep, but he didn’t. He kept going with the repetitive movements making sure that, even in sleep, Richie would feel loved and cared for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm, like, so sorry. I didn't mean for this one to be way sadder and I also didn't intend for the wordcount to be so large. I hope there was enough fluff. Hopefully I didn't ruin it lol.
> 
> I don't think I have anything else to say, so have a good day!


End file.
